Black and White
by Jaslazul
Summary: Star Fox is crumbling and Fox is the only one who seems to care. Desperate for relief from politics and bureaucracy, he takes a solo mission that finally forces him to confront his long-time rival. It doesn't go as planned. Post-Aparoid. Fox/Wolf.
1. Forlorn

A while back I started talking to tldrOtter about Star Fox. Since he actually wrote something and posted it here, I figured I ought to do the same. You can leave me feedback in the form of reviews or private messages, and if you'd like to look at some of the future chapters to give me feedback before I post them, feel free to ask. I'm a bit busy but I usually respond eventually.

Also, a note to new readers: I hope you enjoy! It's been a lot of fun writing this far, and I don't plan on stopping any time soon. Don't be afraid to leave me a comment or a review or a message if you want to chat. I always love hearing feedback on my writing.

I'll warn there's a bit of setup in the first couple of chapters, but I encourage you to stick with it! I have some great things planned.

Update, 6/26/2017: minor editing pass over the whole story.

* * *

By now he knew the routine. It'd been a decade now he'd been polishing the facade, on and off; compared to the politicians who'd spent twenty, thirty years doing the same, he was still an amateur, but everyone saw him through a rose-tinted lens that honed in on his war medals.

He knew where to drop subtle inflections. Where to add an embarrassed flick of the ears. Where to trail off and look thoughtful. Where to shake his head as if in sorrow of the system's great loss—a sorrow that necessarily had to be manufactured, lest the sobering reality strike too deep and leave him paralyzed. He couldn't risk that. No one could: the loss had been too real.

Not hundreds, not thousands, but millions.

Dull applause sounded as his last words died and a somber "Thank you" signaled the end to his speech. An old rottweiler gave him a nod and a mouthed "Good job" as he stepped off behind the stage into a bustle of military and politicians. To his right was the Zonessian governor, talking to Corneria military's chief of R&D. Farther down, he could see the chief justice of the interplanetary judiciary council. Scattered among the gaggle of military veterans being honored at the ceremony, he saw representatives from countless branches of the planetary government and caught more than a few nods. A few here and there waved him over for congratulatory words or spills of whatever the latest rumors were on the planetary alliance's next moves.

The first thing he did when he got a moment alone was to reach up and undo that damned neck-button that was nearly choking him. His eyes scanned around. In all the crowd, there was one he was looking for, but the short hare tended to get lost in the buzz of tall bodies.

Seven months had passed since he'd fired the self-destruct program into the hive mind, and Corneria was just starting to get itself back on its feet. It'd been a long and arduous process, but Fox had been prepared for it, this time. Lots of time spent meeting with the city council. Lots of time spent in courts. Lots of time spent in public ceremonies and speeches. Not particularly fun, but at least it was _somewhat_ gratifying. At least he was doing _something_. It was too easy to go insane if all he could focus on was the lack of piloting jobs.

In that time, they'd rebuilt the infrastructure of the city enough for most citizens to resume normal life. It helped that they didn't have to begin from nothing: only around half the city had been damaged in the attack, and only around ten percent had been damaged to the point of inoperability. Most of the essential areas had been spared. Corneria Central Stadium hadn't been one of them, and the completion of its repairs signaled, at least in the public eye, the next stage in recovery.

Fox attributed much of Corneria's rapid recovery to the hare who was now just a few feet in front of him. He'd convalesced seamlessly and he'd done an excellent job of blending in to his new role:

"Hey, general."

Peppy clapped a hand down on his shoulder. "You did good."

"And you're a good speechwrite."

The two shared a brief chuckle, then stepped out the way as a group of veterans headed by them, out towards the stage. "I guess things are finally getting back to normal," Fox said. "Memorial stadium and everything. It'll be in the history books soon."

"So will we all," Peppy droned. His eyes followed the next crowd heading to the stage for a bit, then shifted back to Fox. "So, what have you been up to lately, anyhow? Haven't seen ya in ages. Been getting a little worried."

He wanted to say _nothing_ , but it felt like too much of a confession. Too real. He combed his head for a moment, thinking. "I don't know. Lots of speeches and events. Banquets. Outreach events with the kids." He didn't want to say anything more, so he threw the question back at Peppy: "How about you?"

Peppy didn't even have to stop to think. He talked for a while, about how much military presence had been needed in the streets to prevent thieves from raiding the buildings that had been ruined during the attack, about the influx of space-pirate attacks on interplanetary vessels that had led to the current ban on civilian interplanetary travel, and about how damn annoying it was to fight the council on his every move. Unsurprisingly, the general of the Cornerian military was high on the radar of innumerable special interest groups. It was one hell of a high-profile job, and Peppy seemed hell-bent on proving that, despite his graying fur and severe injuries, he could still keep up on the level of his predecessor, General Pepper, who'd died in the war.

Fox listened to all this with mild disinterest. It should have been endearing, to see the subdued enthusiasm on his old mentor's face when he described a particularly clever move he'd made to outpace political stonewalling, but instead, it was just a bit sad to see the hare's enthusiasm directed towards something so far removed from Fox's interests.

Fox gave a curt nod and made a few cursory comments, but the same tricks that worked on officials and company representatives didn't work on his old mentor. The hare could tell something was wrong, and he paused in the middle of one of his stories. "Something's bothering you, Fox?"

"I don't know. I think I'm ready to get back to the grind. You've got a nice new job and everything, but I don't. I was actually hoping you might have something for me to work."

"Already anxious to get back in the air?" Peppy laughed. "I figured you would be. There's not a lot of good pilot work out there right now, I know."

"It's driving me insane, Pep, just sitting around. But, like..." He shook his head. "Yeah. All the jobs are shit, you know? And everyone else..." He trailed off.

"Well, Fox, it ain't easy to follow up on saving the world _twice_."

"It's not even that. Just... I'm bored outta my mind, and playing escort to a trade vessel isn't gonna fix it."

"Always a daredevil, aren't ya?" Peppy's eyes defocused for a moment, and he was quiet for a while. A few veterans walked past them, queuing up for the next round of honors. Peppy put a hand down on Fox's back, and started steering them towards a corner, away from the crowd. "Can't make any promises, Fox, but if you're interested... well, I've got something maybe you could investigate."

"I'm listening."

"Well, don't get your hopes too high. It's nothing official yet, but I'm sure I could cover expenses and probably scrounge up some decent pay for you in a few weeks' time. I'm sure you're well aware—Fichina hasn't been doing too well ever since the Aparoids hit."

He remembered the battle on the icy planet's surface. The scramble to capture Pigma, the anger as the swine infected the Climate Control Center with Aparoids, and the frustration of watching him fly away while Fox was stuck preventing the damn thing from melting down. Peppy had been there, too. Until the module was repaired, Fichina would essentially be uninhabitable. Not exactly good news for the planet's considerable population.

"Yeah. I remember."

"The civilians there have held up well, but supplies are running low, and we desperately need to fix the damn module so they can start sustaining themselves again with agriculture. We've been sending ships with repair parts. _Expensive_ parts."

Fox sighed, thinking back to the news stories. "They were raided, yes?"

"Yep. Even the cargo ships we've sent with food have been attacked. People are freezing and starving and I don't know how much more they can take." Peppy braced himself with an arm up against the wall and sighed. He looked tired; his age was showing. "We tried sending escorts, but they were destroyed. Pirate activity is thriving and our military is stretched thin. Don't know how much more we can afford."

"So, you want me to join the escort?" Fox didn't much like the sound of this—if a full military escort had been wiped by pirates, it didn't sound like he'd have much of a chance himself.

"The next ship is in a couple weeks. If you want to join the escort then, there'd certainly be pay in it for you and it's more than likely you'd see fire. But in the mean time, I've got a hunch..."

"Yeah?"

"Based on the reports, it looks like our old pals Star Wolf were involved."

"...they're alive?"

The words came out automatically. The surprising thing wasn't Star Wolf _was_ alive, or even that they were already allegedly back to crime; rather it was the feeling of _relief_ that washed over him. It had been anyone's guess as to whether the exploding Aparoid homeworld had taken Star Wolf out with it, and it was something he'd found himself pondering more than once late at night when sleep wouldn't come.

Peppy nodded. "From what I've heard, yeah. They took a pretty big hit during the war. I wouldn't be surprised if they were using the cargo from these ships to re-establish their foothold in Meteo. Why don't you stick your nose in there, see what they're up to? If they're behind this, we got a problem."

Fox tapped his claws against the wall and chose his next words carefully. "...I'll need a team. I can't waltz into Meteo alone. If word gets out I'm there, I'll be toast."

Peppy frowned. "Well, I can't spare any troops, and I can't go, but there's the rest of the old gang. There's Falco. And... shit, _everyone_ wants to fly with you, Fox. Hell, why not try to fill my spot? And Slippy's, too."

Fox didn't offer a response, but Peppy was still looking at him expectantly. Star Wolf hadn't really been something any of them had talked about, save Fox and Falco a couple times after a couple too many beers. _Everyone_ owed Wolf their life, but Fox, especially: he could walk to the exact spot where Wolf had plucked him away from the Aparoids' clutches in less than fifteen minutes. Hell, the scorch marks from from his exploding ship were probably still there.

"Even if I could get the old gang, it just doesn't feel right, to think of them as the enemy. You were there—I don't know how much you remember after that crash—but we wouldn't have won against the Aparoids without them. Don't get me wrong. I've never liked them, but..."

"But isn't this right up your alley, Fox? You wanna do something big, well, here you go. And ya'd be able to finally figure out what happened to them, too."

Fox pursed his lips. "You know, maybe you're right. Why don't you write up something for me, and send it out as an official contract with all the details?"

"I'll get started right away." Peppy extended his arm; Fox clasped the hare's hand in his own.

"Thanks, Pep."

* * *

"So how's it been living solo?"

Falco took a moment to finish downing nearly half his beer in a single gulp before responding. "It's a lot quieter without you bitching at me all the time." It came down against the table with a loud clang that pierced through whatever garbage was playing on the holovision that neither of them were watching.

"Yeah. It's definitely quieter without your music. Or your shitty soap operas." Fox had barely taken a sip from his beer, instead fixating his gaze out the top-floor bay window that looked down on half of Corneria city. This wasn't one of the luxury spots that had a bird's-eye view of Corneria Park, but it was about as close to it as a mere mortal could hope to afford. At least, it made Fox's second-floor place four blocks down seem like a college kid's studio in comparison.

"Hell of a view," he muttered. The contrast between the real estate and the shitty beer the bird bought wasn't lost on him. "Guess the testing gig isn't treating you bad, huh?"

"Easier than merc work and pays ten times as much." Fox tilted his head, and Falco waved a hand. "Alright, well, it doesn't pay ten times as much. But you get a lot more pocket-money when you don't have a ship and a carrier to maintain."

"Right." Fox frowned. He idly fingered the side of the beer-bottle and found his claw cutting through the label. Falco looked thoughtful, like he still had more to say, and Fox wasn't sure he wanted to hear it.

"...it's such a shitty gig, you know. Being a merc. You don't realize it till you get out of it."

Fox remembered how, not even a month after the war had ended, he'd had countless mails from flight companies and the military R&D sector flooding his inbox. He hadn't even opened half of them. And even after seeing Falco's newfound life of luxury, he hadn't thought to go back and revisit them, not even once. "Doesn't it get boring, though? Being a test pilot?"

The couch shifted as Falco stood. He wrestled another bottle from the fridge and plopped himself down again with a grunt. "Nah. It's not so bad. Still get to fly."

"It's always the same shit, though. They offered me the same sort of job, and it's always... you know, test standard maneuvers, test timings, test gauges." He took another gulp from his own beer. He was approaching the three-quarters point on it. Ten years ago, he used to always keep pace with his feathered friend, but as the years passed by, he'd gotten slower. "I'd fall asleep and wreck the damn thing."

He expected Falco to laugh, but the bird just shrugged. "S'not completely brainless. There's obstacle courses and shit." Falco'd never been one to let his emotions bleed through into his words, but even Fox could hear the boredom and disinterest, there. And yet he didn't seem to care.

Ten years ago and Falco was the only other pilot he knew who had the same kind of borderline bloodlust he did in the sky. He lived for the dogfight; the moment one mission was over and he'd had his little customary fling planetside, Falco was gearing up for the next.

"As if pilots like us couldn't do any course the military could sling at us, even in a shit-tier ship."

"See, this is why I like living alone. Don't gotta listen to you bitching all the time."

Fox rolled his eyes. For a few minutes, they both faced the holovision. It was some drama about a group of scientists working on nanotech. The Aparoids had ruined nanotech for Fox; even if it was completely benign, it'd always give him the creeps. He'd never forget the purple haze creeping through the air, taking Pigma, the Fichina Climate Control Center, Pepper. Silence rolled on. Fox finished his first beer, and Falco finished his second, giving it a firm push farther back on the glass table.

There was an eerie tension in the air that Fox wondered if Falco felt.

"Look, Fox. Being a merc is great. Really. But that shit takes over your life. All your money goes to tech or you can't keep up. All your time goes to hunting out jobs. Can't ever live in one place, can't ever see a girl more than once before you're halfway across the damn system."

Fox leaned back and propped his feet up on the table. "You didn't seem to have a problem with that, back then."

"I didn't. It's just, that shit gets old. " He folded his hands behind his head. "I'm not retiring, just... it's been what, seven months since the Aparoids? How long did we just shoot the shit after Andross?"

"Three months and we were back in the sky." He shouldn't have spouted that out so readily or confidently. He'd obviously been dwelling on it, and Falco cast him a slanted eye. "You know, back then I didn't know what to do with myself. I was so young, and it was overwhelming."

Falco laughed. "I bet you got laid more times in those three months than in the rest of your life."

Fox ignored him. "But I'm not a kid anymore. I've had my time in the spotlight and I just want to get back to flying."

"I think you're just afraid of living a normal life. Don't tell me you didn't enjoy yourself back then."

Fox sighed. It was ten years ago, but he still remembered what it was like. Bar after bar, swarmed with fangirls and fanboys. Reporters knocking on his door and finding him on the street. He quickly learned not to say anything to any of them—inevitably he'd just drop some casual remark just for the sake of saying something, and it'd end up twisted and mangled out of context in the tabloids the next day. It was the questions about James that had gotten to him the most.

The fangirls weren't much better. Sure, it was nice having everyone so taken with him, but it was superficial at best. 'Get fucked by Fox McCloud' was high up on the bucket list of a surprising number of college-aged girls, and he'd taken advantage of that a few times-more often than not coaxed by Falco after a long night of drinking.

But whereas Falco would often see the same girl several times, Fox never saw a single one more than once. Not to say that he didn't have offers, but he never embraced the lifestyle as much as Falco did. He was just in it for the attention, not the sex: every experience that he could remember resulting from a bar pickup had always been drab and boring sex-for-the-sake-of-saying-I-fucked-Fox sex. He'd always figured all the over-the-top lewd stories Falco had told him had been lies and exaggerations, but no: Falco had always just been way more into it than Fox had. He had a hard time taking a girl seriously when the moment she thought his back was turned, she was texting all her friends to brag about what she'd picked up at the bar.

"Not really," he muttered at last. He sighed. "I wanted to see what the life was all about, y'know. I thought it'd grow on me, but it didn't."

Falco rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that kind of shit, Fox."

"It's not shit. It's—"

"You know what I mean. That 'I'm too mature for one night stands' shit. It's all about experience. You gotta put yourself in the game if you wanna find something good. And y'know what?" He grunted. "I've had the same girl for three months now."

Fox tilted his head. "Really? You didn't tell anyone?"

Falco shrugged. He looked a little sheepish, turning away to stare at the holovision once more. His feathers toyed with the opening of an empty bottle. "Not anyone's business."

He took that as a clue not to pry. He turned towards the holo himself, and sighed. Damn it. For all that conversation about girls wasn't exactly his forte, at least it let him procrastinate what he imagined was going to be a dead line of questioning anyway. "I couldn't date a fan."

"Excuses."

"No, I mean it. Doesn't feel right. It's..."

"So what happened to Krystal? She's not a fan. And she's as much a bitch as you are. Chick was born to fight."

Fox shook his head, and met Falco's eyes. If he wasn't going to pry about Falco's girl, then Falco couldn't pry about her. He was silent for awhile. Peppy had always said James never had anything in his life but girls and planes. Fox didn't have girls.

"Why'd you come over, anyway? I know it wasn't to talk about girl problems."

Fox shook his head. "It's nothing."

"Bullshit. Speak up."

He sighed. "I was just... well, I thought it was obvious. Peppy offered me a mission..." He gave Falco a sidelong glance, and Falco shook his head, ever so slightly.

"Sorry, Fox, but I don't wanna get back into it yet. Just wanna... you know, enjoy civ life for a while. 'sides, I got flights lined up all next week and I can't blow 'em all off. Not saying I'm quitting the team for good, but hell..." Falco shook his head, and his next words were drained of some of their usual brashness. "We'll be thirty soon. It's got to stop being our whole life sometime."

It felt like a heavy weight settled on Fox's chest. He pursed his lips, trying to disguise the sadness. It was a moment before he spoke up again. "...what if it's a particularly juicy mission?"

Falco laughed. "I don't mean to be a dick, but what the hell could be juicy after saving the whole goddam system from those bug-freaks?"

Fox grinned. "Relief ships to Katina have been getting intercepted through Meteo by pirates."

"And my ass is blue. What else is new?"

"Pepper's got a hunch that one of our old friends is behind it. You know. Wolf. Panther. Leon."

Falco took in a deep breath and sighed. He was quiet for a while, eyes focused on the rolling credits of the nanobot-show. That wasn't exactly the reaction Fox had been hoping for, but by this point, it certainly wasn't a surprise.

"You really think they're the bad guys now?"

"Peppy thinks they're raiding relief ships. They don't get a free pass because of what they did in the war." His tongue echoed Pepper's sentiments of its own accord. "Honestly, I thought you'd be eager to join in. You hate Star Wolf."

Falco stood. Both of his beers went into the recycling. He leaned an arm down onto the back of the couch, staring down at Fox. "Yeah, well, I hated them because ten years ago they almost killed you. But it's been a decade. People change."

"You really think so?"

"Some people do. I have. Wolf has—hell, you saw him in the war." He turned and headed over to the coat rack to pick up his jacket and slip it over his chest. "You haven't."

Ten minutes later and Falco was ushering him out the door.

The official contract came two days later, beaming to his comm with an unceremonious chime that interrupted his morning coffee. The rest of his day disappeared into an abyss of musing and brooding. No Peppy. No Slippy. No Falco. And yet...

Fox had an idea.

It wasn't until that night that finally, he hit the reply button. _I'll take the mission. Here's what I'll need from you._


	2. Predator and Prey

This one took me a while. I blame work and tldrOtter (for not pestering me enough) and my boyfriend, but as compensation, here's an extra-long chapter to make up for it.

* * *

The merc world was vicious.

Fox kept this in mind as he landed his ship. The door to the club opened up to the bay, and he could hear the music from inside thumping. It still struck him as a little odd every time his own fur came into view and he saw white instead of orange, but so it had to be. If he'd worn his natural look, every merc in the room would be turning towards him and that was exactly the type of attention he couldn't afford, working as a solo operative.

The bouncer, a heavyset rhino with a sawed-off horn, guarded the door. Fox gave him a curt nod, and thankfully, the brute didn't stop him from pushing his way inside.

Interior, the music was louder, but the merc bar wasn't quite as bad as a nightclub. The music was kept just low enough that people could still talk, so the bass wasn't quite pounding to the point of knocking a headache into him. People huddled around tables in every corner of the bar; more than half of the occupants were clearly mercenaries, but even so, the sight painted here was a far cry from that at Cornerian military bars and merc hangouts. Fox saw few canines that weren't rottweillers or pit bulls. Uncommon species like hyenas, gorillas, and rhinos were a-plenty—hell, he even saw an elephant. Blasters weren't compact and hidden, but numerous and oversized and strapped forward on the waist in plain sight. It sure looked intimidating, but Fox could probably disarm any of them in less time than it would have taken them to draw.

But that's what being a mercenary in this part was about, it seemed. All around, the bar was huge muscles, gnashing teeth, and oversized guns. It wasn't about being tough, but looking tough, because if you made the mistake of looking like prey and someone pounced on you, there was no one to run to for justice—just more eager predators seeking to capitalize on your limp. It was like life in the wilds.

And Fox was a thin, pretty white fox with a 200mm blaster. He might as well be a walking bulls-eye.

On display in the center of the bar were four of five stations with half-naked women on display, gyrating to the rhythm of whatever flavor-of-the-month synth music was playing. And of course, sitting right in front of one of them, chatting up a dancer, was his man.

Panther Caruso. Of all the members of Star Wolf, there was a clear weak link. Wolf was a monster in the skies, dangerously smart, and damn tough to break. Leon was impossible to read. But Panther? Panther was a hell of a pilot, sure, but out of the skies, he was predictable.

Someone bumped into his side. Fox let out a low "Oof," then muttered a low apology out of instinct. He didn't think anything of it, and started pathing his way towards Panther-just for someone to bump into him again, harder.

"Listen to this twerp."

A glance to his left identified the voice as belonging to a musclebound bear, his flight suit stretched a bit too tight over his oversized gut. To his right, a female husky, taller than Fox, who appeared to be missing all but the base of her left ear. Her right one was so heavily studded as to make him wonder if the other had been lost in a piercing accident.

Another shove pushed him towards the female's grasp. "What the..." He cursed at her surprisingly strong grip on his wrists when he tried to jerk away. "Look, I don't want any trouble."

" _I don't want any trouble,"_ the husky mocked back in faux falsetto. She leaned in close enough that Fox could smell the alcohol on her breath.

"Let me _go,_ " Fox said.

"What a pussy," the bear from behind grunted.

"Now, now," The husky leaned in and bared yellow-stained teeth. "Don't be rude. You meet a lady at a bar, you ought to be buying her a drink."

From the corner of his eye, he could see another patron leveling a pitiful, amused grin his way. He tried tugging himself away again, but the husky had the positional advantage of leverage and the bear was just behind him, no doubt ready to pounce should Fox squirm his way free. If he wanted to have any chance at playing his role well, he couldn't let himself be walked over like this.

The merc world was vicious, and he couldn't be prey.

"I warned you." His knee came up and struck her in the abdomen. Normally, he'd reach back and elbow the other assailant, but he knew the bear's gut would nullify the impact and make that a useless affair. He heard a growl sound from the male behind him, and he knew he had to react quickly.

He ducked, just in time for the bear to miss, and he almost winced in sympathy as he saw those melon-sized biceps deliver their full force to the husky. A hand braced himself against the floor, and he pushed his weight up, springing up into a handstand that forced a booted foot against the underside of the bear's chin. Another shove on the ground from his palms, and he was propelling off the ground to his feet, dropping into a half-crouch.

The bear's form didn't scare Fox. He'd gone his whole life without being the biggest guy in the room. He didn't save the Lylat system through his godly physique or his hand-to-hand skills, but whether it was in the air or out of it, he was smart. And fast.

The bear was still struggling to regain his footing; having all that extra weight on his belly might have made him look intimidating, but it frustrated his balance. That was his weakness, and Fox sprang on it. He turned to deliver another spinning kick to the bear's face. It landed with a sickening crack and left the bear once more stumbling for footing. Once. Twice. Thrice, the move repeated, each kick paced with a step forward as the sheer force of the last sent the bear stumbling backwards. It only took three before the bear fell to the ground with a loud, resounding thud that seemed to quake the entire station.

The adrenaline had Fox panting. People were staring, wide-eyed, and when he glanced around the room, not a single soul was mocking him anymore. Fox stood up tall, and something blazed in his chest that he hadn't felt in a good seven months. He felt _good_. "The name's Renard," he said. "And if any of you are fool enough to lay a finger on me, you'll have the same fate."

It was clearly just another day at this bar. The bouncer, the same hornless rhino, stuck his head inside, snorted, and went back to his post. Conversations resumed. Fox disappeared into the backdrop, but this time, the backdrop disappeared from him, too. People kept their distance, as they should. They now knew the price of fucking with Renard.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Panther looking over at him, briefly distracted from his occupation with the bikini-clad vixen. When Fox met his eyes, Panther looked away. He'd amassed a small graveyard of shot glasses in front of him. Perfect. But Fox didn't want to just walk right up to him after making such a scene—no, that'd be too obvious. He kept Panther in the corner of his eye; whenever the feline went up to leave, that'd be his chance. For now, though... well, he knew there wasn't a bar in the System that wasn't home to a couple loudmouth braggarts who only needed a few pints to loosen their tongues.

He scanned his eyes across the room. A few people looked back at him. Some flinched away the moment Fox caught them staring. Others met his eye in a clear invitation. There were a few empty seats at the bar itself, but in the corner, at a small round table with a pair of seats free, another fox met his eyes and cocked his head. Like Fox, he was unusually diminutive for this place. Similar build, same species, clearly a merc.

The fox's eyes followed his approach while his mouth munched on a toothpick. "About damn time someone put Brett on his ass," the fox said. There was an empty seat to which he gestured. "Sit, and I'll buy."

* * *

Time and time again, the table erupted into raucous laughter, and Fox was the only party who barely gave a chuckle. The others downed pint after pint, but Fox had yet to finish his first.

There were four of them there: the fox, a grizzled boar, and a tiger couple. The boar seemed to regard him with annoyed amusement. The couple, for the most part, ignored him. But the fox—perhaps just by virtue of sharing species—took quick friendship with him, and they traded a few words as the rest of the group talked among themselves about various contracts they'd had over the years. Renard slid right into place: one disgruntled military cadet, deserting for a chance at a big break in the booming crime industry.

The conversation carried on for half an hour before it got interesting: gossip about various teams flew back and forth, names he didn't recognize. Darkwarden. Clawstorm. Astra.

"How about Star Wolf?" Fox said. The boar looked at him like he was an idiot. The two felines laughed. Fox met the other fox's eyes, and grunted. "What?"

The boar grunted. "You freshmeats are all the same. All you ever hear about is Star Wolf this, Star Wolf that. Hah. Same shit for a decade."

"They're the only ones that meet the press by name," the other fox—Valen, he'd said his name was—said. "So, that's not so surprising." He shrugged, then turned to Fox. "Anyway, they're... you don't want to work for them. Do business in their territory when you can, but run from anything with their name on it."

Fox quirked a brow. "I find it hard to believe they're that dangerous."

"Dangerous? That's one way to put it. Rule number one of Meteo is _don't fuck with Wolf_."

The boar snorted and rolled his eyes, but the fox straightened his back and glared. The little guy had a surprisingly biting tone to his voice, and it was loud enough to carry.

"He's had a thirty-thousand dollar bounty on his head for ten years and no one's collected. I know every fucking tough-guy in the room wants to make like he's the biggest badass in the system, but you can't argue with the facts."

The boar looked like he wanted to wrap his hands around the fox's throat, but he didn't say anything: just balled up a fist and snorted.

"Meteo is mostly Wolf's turf," the male tiger said after a short pause. His voice was soft and almost musical, dripping with some kind of accent Fox didn't recognize. "Lot of people don't like Star Wolf, since they're always sticking their nose in everyone's business."

The female joined in: "Yeah, but. Most teams out here, they got something to prove. Look at 'em wrong and they'll sock you between the eyes. S'not that way with Star Wolf. Just don't piss Wolf off, and you'll never have a problem."

The male nodded. "Yeah. Sure. Like... well, that panther's here pretty often, but he's never kicked out someone's jaw like you. Everyone just leaves him alone."

"I've seen that chameleon out, too. He's one creepy fuck, but they're only trouble if you see the whole damn team."

"They're screwdrivers," Valen said. "It's Wolf who does the turning. Like it or not, he's got this whole sector wrapped around his finger."

"Enough of this," the boar grunted. "Who gives a shit about them, anyway. Once I get my team running, I'm gonna chase 'em all outta here."

The other fox's lips quirked up in amusement at that comment. Fox got the feeling that the little fox was considerably tougher than he let on. A pregnant silence followed, but Valen kept glancing at Fox, and Fox felt like his interest in Star Wolf would be suspicious if it were unjustified and he didn't want Valen on his ass. It was fascinating to Fox that the man who'd given him so much hell had such a far-reaching influence, but it probably shouldn't be to Renard.

"Reason I ask... I've been trying to find work," Fox said, joining in with what seemed to be this odd group's policy of just ignoring the boar. "A team's a good gig, and I've got the skills to earn a spot anywhere. I could shoot that old man right out the sky."

The fox scoffed. "You put on a good show, but you look lost as a puppy here. You do indie work first, _then_ you look for a team, and you can forget about Star Wolf. You want to find work, I can help you out."

Fox narrowed his eyes. This little fox was willing to hook up someone he'd just met with mercenary jobs, and he hadn't even seen Fox fly yet? There had to be a catch. "At what rate?"

"Fifteen percent."

Fox laughed. "Fifteen? No way. I'll try my own luck first."

Beside him, the female tiger laughed. "Oh, that's cute. I woulda killed for fifteen when I started."

Fox rolled his eyes. Luckily, being clueless in the underground merc Meteo world matched with the role he was trying to play, here. "You guys on a team, now?"

The two tigers glanced at each other. "Stripe Z," the male said. Valen shrugged, and said, "Freelance." The boar just shook his head.

The female tiger leaned a bit closer towards him, and for a while, she talked about her team. Fox wasn't really listening. Nothing she said seemed to be particularly relevant, but Renard showed his due interest, positing a question here and there. From the corner of his eye, Fox saw Panther get up. He stood a few seconds later so it wasn't quite so obvious the two events were correlated. "I've gotta jet," he said. He paused to meet Valen's eyes first, and gave him a parting nod. He liked the fox and didn't think it was wise to lose contact, for as long as his mission continued. "Let's talk again, sometime?"

Valen returned the nod. "Same time next week. I'll look for ya."

With that, he trailed after Panther. A quick glance towards where he'd been seated showed an employee clearing away what looked like five shot glasses. Estimating that he'd been here around an hour, had a fairly bulky build, and likely had a good bit of tolerance, Fox wagered Panther wouldn't be much inebriated. Maybe just tipsy enough to loosen his tongue, but not enough to make this easy. Damn.

He followed behind Panther, keeping his distance and quieting his footsteps. A quick glance around told him there weren't many cameras in the area, and it was easy enough to keep himself out of range of them. Not that it particularly mattered; he doubted many would care about a fight out in the bay, after how little the bouncer had cared after his little fight inside earlier.

He waited until Panther was stepping up the rail to get on his ship, then he struck from behind. Fox grasped hold of Panther's legs and tugged him down. He brandished the knife he'd tucked into his belt and pulled Panther back against him. The blade of the knife whirred through the air and pressed up against his neck, the tip digging slightly into his skin. It was a quick move: one moment Panther was peacefully walking and five seconds later his life was down to a single flick of Renard's wrist.

"Who the—

He pushed the blade in firm enough to sting. "Quiet," he hissed. "I need information."

Panther stilled. "I know you. You're that fox—"

"I said _quiet_. Information." Leaving the blade in position, Fox reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tablet. He dangled it in front of Panther's face. It was a list of ships: eleven in total, five of which had been Fichina-bound relief ships. "What do you know of these ships? Was this your doing?"

"You're one of them, aren't you? I'm not giving you anything, you—"

Fox put the tablet away, then gave Panther's head a shove. It made a sickening crack against the paneling of his Wolfen that almost made Fox wince. "Alright, kitten. If a knife to your neck isn't enough of a threat..." Fox growled. "How about this." The knife slowly trailed down. He pushed the point in a bit more firmly, so that Panther could feel it trailing every inch of the way down his back, then around his chest, and finally, down between his legs.

Panther jerked so intensely that he almost did the job himself. Gods, that was satisfying; Fox was enjoying this far too much. "N-no! No! Okay. I'll talk." Fox stopped the downward motion of the knife, and Panther relaxed, letting out what sounded like a pathetic squeak. "Yes, we were involved, but they outfought us. There was nothing we could do."

Fox tilted his head. "Explain."

"They had protection. And even if they didn't, no one gets attacked in our territory, unless we give the okay."

His tongue wagged futilely for a few moments. "You defended those ships?" Who was powerful enough to contest ships in Wolf's territory and win?

Panther was silent for a while. He tilted his head and tried to get a look at Fox, who gave him another firm shove forward, denying him the privilege. Panther growled. "Who the hell do you work for?"

"Myself," Fox said. "Who's attacking the ships? What do they want?"

"I don't do the talking," Panther said, voice low. "You want to talk? You come talk to Wolf."

"Right." Fox snorted. "Walking alone into your base is a great idea."

Panther laughed. It was such a ridiculous thing; only a few minutes earlier he'd been scared to the point of squealing at the thought of Fox's knife. "You're new here, aren't you? You have no idea how Meteo works. You—hrrf."

Another hard shove shut him up. Fox didn't like to be mocked. "What makes you think I could trust you not to lead me to my death?"

"You're obviously a merc. Who do you work for? Corneria? Fichina? Some other crime boss outside Meteo? I don't care. You come to us, we'll pay you double."

Fox paused to consider this. He frowned and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

If this had been Leon he'd pinned, he would have been suspicious, but this was Panther: an excellent pilot, but a simple man. On the off chance that it actually _was_ a trap... well, if Fox could blast his way straight through the front door of Andross's base on Venom, he could sure as hell weasel his way out of Star Wolf's clutches.

Hell, he almost looked forward to it. It'd been a long time since he'd gotten to push his limits.

Fox folded his knife back into his belt. It felt good to be back. "I'm listening."

* * *

Sargasso was long gone, but its successor was an imposing sight. It looked to be an old station, subject to rapid renovation and expansion as Wolf and his cronies overtook it post-Aparoids. Sargasso II, it was dubbed—or at least, that's what Panther had called it.

He couldn't shake the unease in the pit of his stomach as he flew in towards the base. There were more than a few ships circling the station, and every now and again, the bay doors would open and one would either swoop in or kick off. Fox wondered how many pounds of drugs, weapons, and other illegal paraphernalia were flooding in and out of the base every second. He kept expecting the comm screen in his ship to light up and flash a holo of Wolf's mug, but no: he was just a simple mercenary like the countless others flocking to the facility, no doubt. He didn't warrant that special attention.

When he'd boosted through the stone pillars marking out Andross's base on Venom so many years ago or when he'd nose-dived into the Aparoid tunnels, he'd been driven by necessity, desperation, and the knowledge that if he didn't die then and there, he and billions of others were going to die a few months later regardless. The adrenaline had killed off the anxiety perfectly, to the point that he'd been almost at peace. There wasn't any adrenaline to calm his nerves now.

He could only hope there wasn't any special attention waiting for him just beyond the bay doors, as he guided his ship in to a rest. He couldn't shake the feeling of paranoia that somehow Panther had seen through his disguise, even though in that simpleton's case it should have been immediately obvious had he done so.

He'd stepped foot on one of Wolf's bases in the past, but not on nearly as friendly terms. He'd never seen things in their natural state, and truth told, it was a lot less scummy here than he'd been expecting. The station was old, but not as old as many of the military outposts Fox had stayed on in the past, and there weren't as many apes or weasels as he expected. There were a few technicians and what looked like mercs and smugglers in the bay, and it was a good mix of species: bird, raccoon, ape, lion, bloodhound. The distribution didn't quite look like that of a military battalion, but it was closer to one than the menagerie at the bar.

Panther led him to the door and punched a code into the padlock. As one would expect in a larger base, the dock was isolated from the main base to deaden noise from incoming vessels. A winding staircase led him up to the main floor, and...

Completely standard. It might have even been an older model of a military barracks. Dull, gray metal everywhere. Not a hint of color except for blackened scorches, remnants of blaster fire from fire-fights long forgotten. If he'd woken up here without knowing where he was, he'd have no reason not to think he was on a Cornerian station.

"Half an hour," Panther grunted beside him, "then right back here. Make yourself at home."

* * *

A good five minutes of searching and he found the bar, at which he ordered a beer and cocked his ears, but the only thing he gleaned from the experience was the amusing realization that Wolf fed his grunts better beer than Falco bought. Mercs flitted in and out of the small joint steadily, but most of what he heard was gossip or technical. An overwhelming majority of people he saw were either unknowledgeable visitors giving reports or permanent, close-lipped workers. It seemed Wolf had a tight grip on anyone who entered Sargasso, and Fox shouldn't have been surprised.

All too soon, he and Panther were riding the elevator up to the top floor, and Fox hadn't gained a damn thing from his exploring. The halls seemed like a blur to him as Panther led the way, and Fox wouldn't have been able to find his way back if his life depended on it.

They came to a halt before a heavy sliding door. Panther punched a code, and once the thing slid open, placed a palm on Fox's back and pushed him in. The door closed shut behind him, and Fox knew it wouldn't be easy to get it back open.

He was alone. Behind him, Panther. In front of him, Leon and Wolf.

He'd never seen either of them outside of their ships. Leon was far shorter than he expected; if he broke five feet, then he did so just barely, and his thin figure made him look even smaller than he was. He looked much more a shriveled skeleton of a man than a deadly mercenary. Wolf, by contrast, was larger than Fox had imagined. Sure, he knew Wolf's dimensions from dossiers, but if the name of the game in Meteo was intimidation and puffing yourself up, Wolf was an absolute master. Dark, thick fur lended an unnecessary illusion of even further bulk to his thickly-muscled form, even when he was clothed. Gleaming teeth, unkempt headfur, and the scouter mounted over his bad eye made him look even more imposing.

Wolf O'Donnell. That name had haunted him for a decade, now, and here he was in the flesh, very much alive. Seeing him like this–seeing him breathe like a normal person, seeing him in his element–made it so much more personal. It was time, at last, to see if the _person_ measured up to the _idea_.

"Here he is," Panther said. "The little fox who's been asking around."

Fox met Leon's eyes first. They narrowed. Leon didn't trust him; it was so immediately obvious that it almost made Fox wince. The reptile's thin lips were pressed together and his eyes were flicking over Fox as if probing for his every weakness. Despite his height and build, he commanded a powerful presence, and Fox was the first to look away.

Similar suspicion was in Wolf's single purple eye. His head tilted, and his whitewashed eyebrows flattened in a squint, like someone staring down someone they think they might know.

Fear gave Fox's spine an icy chill, and his fur threatened to stand on end. But years in the business had taught him how to control how his emotions showed, and he kept himself calm, just like Renard would, and met each of their eyes in turn, defiantly.

"Lock him up," Leon hissed. His voice was low and his words came out too fast. "I don't like him. I don't trust him. We don't need him." He sniffed the air-a long, steady, brooding sound. "Smells like trouble."

He could hear a grunt from behind him. No doubt Panther was poising to grasp his wrists, but by now, Fox had a decent enough read on his character to know he wouldn't act until Wolf gave the word. But Wolf said nothing.

Leon droned on. "Fur too short. Frame too thick. Ears too big."

Another chill, this time powerful strong enough to make his pulse pick up. He hadn't a clue what Leon was talking about, but damn if he wasn't observant. If anyone was going to blow his cover, it'd be that lizard. As he glanced over at Wolf, as if in search of some kind of mercy, he realized that with the scouter he'd been fitted with, he might have been able to pick up the acceleration in his pulse.

"Leave us." Wolf's voice was harsh and coarse and so deep. The older male glanced at Leon. "Both of you."

If nothing else, Wolf had command. Leon's tongue flicked out, and his eyes narrowed at Fox once more, the motion accompanied by a short hiss. Then, he slithered out, Panther following behind him.

And at last, for the first time in his life, he was alone with Wolf O'Donnell. Whether or not Wolf was aware of just who he was remained to be seen, but he figured if Wolf found out his ruse, he'd be locked away in minutes.

Fox's lips curled into a smirk. Hubris. That's what Renard would have. "You're awful quick to trust. If I wanted to kill you, I could do it in an instant."

Wolf grinned. There was no mirth in it, just condescension and mockery and _fang_. If there were amusement, it was like that of an elder amused at an ignorant child. "He's right. You're not an arctic fox. What are you, then?"

"Albino."

"Green eyes. Very green."

Fox's pulse picked up again, and now, Wolf's grin widened. Oh, yes, he could see the numbers hike, for sure. But the sadistic smile didn't last for long-just long enough for Fox to see those glinting teeth. His lips quickly flattened and he was back to that calm, calculating stare.

"I don't trust you. But don't go thinking I'm afraid of you, either. If I were scared, you would already be cuffed and disarmed. No, I'll tell you what I am." He took a few steps closer. His thick scent went straight to Fox's nose. He'd never had much close contact with wolves before. "Curious. Who are you?"

"Renard."

"Renard doesn't exist." Fox tried to keep his expression static, but the bark of laughter Wolf let out told him he failed. "You think I was up here twiddling my thumbs? I do my research. Renard doesn't exist. There are exactly twelve arctic foxes active in Meteo. You aren't one of them. There are exactly two white foxes. You are neither."

As he said this, he walked closer and closer. Fox stepped backwards instinctively. Soon, his back was pushing up against a wall. Wolf was getting closer. Fox's breathing had accelerating, and his pulse continued to rise.

Hell, he was scared, and it was showing. He swallowed and he could swear it was visible. "It doesn't—"

"And you're nervous. You're _scared_." He knew exactly how much to draw out the word to make it sting. "You were so confident with Panther, but once we started sniffing around?" Wolf took an exaggerated drag through his nose. "I can smell your fear." The words were deep and predatory.

The tension snapped and the word blurted out. "You're fucking scary, alright? I'll admit it. Are you happy?" He grunted. "Of course you don't have records of me. I—"

"You're military, aren't you? Cornerian? Fichinian?"

Each word felt like a dagger. Wolf was inching in closer. He was a foot away now. "Listen to—"

Wolf snarled. "You're here about those ships, aren't you?" His jaws snapped, and Fox barely bit back a whimper. "Your precious cargo?"

He knew what he should say, at this point. He knew how to respond, but his body wouldn't do it. His tongue wouldn't listen. He wasn't playing the part of Renard very well-he wasn't even playing the part of Fox very well. There was something primal, something fearsome in Wolf, that messed with him. Wolf had barely raised his voice, but the force and command in it hit him somewhere deep. Each blow left him staggering.

It was no wonder Wolf had been so successful. Fox felt like prey. Wolf O'Donnell definitely did not disappoint.

But Fox was stronger than this. He steeled himself and bared his teeth, snapping his own jaw back in return. "Let. Me. Talk!"

For a moment, Wolf was silent. If he was surprised, he didn't show it, but Fox knew the older male had much more practice on masking his emotions than he had. "Talk."

Fox took a moment to steel himself and regather the words Wolf had stolen. He had it all planned out, but now, he could barely get his story straight. He didn't know what Wolf knew, and what secrets he'd already figured out.

"Those ships weren't your doing."

"No."

"Explain."

"No." Wolf shook his head. "Information is precious. You want, you give."

Fox judged how much he should give away. Start with the smallest bargaining chip and work his way up. "I have manifests and schedules for every Fichinan relief ship for the next two months. Complete with a detailed list of guard personnel to be hired in the wake of the attacks."

Wolf scrutinized him. At least now Fox had something vaguely resembling personal space, but Wolf had this habit of flexing his wrists, and that reminded him that he was only a moment away from Wolf's claws being on his throat. The silence dragged on too long. "I can't read you."

"You don't need to."

"Why did you come? Did you think I was behind the attacks, and that I'd pay for the list? Are you investigating the ships' disappearance, and do you think I'll lead you to the attackers in exchange for the information? Or..." He leaned in. "You're nervous. Bargaining for your life? Little fox is in over his head?"

Fox seethed.

"First two point to military. Did you abandon, or are you a spy?" Fox didn't say anything. Five seconds passed—

—and Wolf's hand was at his throat, claws pressing into his neck, snout inches away. He didn't have to raise his voice; he lowered it, and the single growled word burned: " _Answer_." Wolf's stare was so intense that, no matter how much Fox willed it, he couldn't look away.

Fox had lived through fifteen years in the sky, two galactic wars, and countless lethal shots dodged by nary an inch—but never once had he felt this much unadulterated terror.

He forced in a deep breath, determined to not let Wolf's strong-arm tactics dominate the conversation. Yeah, he was terrified, but he was too good to let that stop him. "If I were a spy, or an investigator... why would I have it out for you?" He leveled his eyes with Wolf's solitary one, exuding a confidence he didn't feel. "If you could prove to me you weren't behind the attacks, I'd be off your ass for good."

Wolf's grip loosened. He turned away, and took a step back, stroking his chin. A few moments later, he whirled back around.

"Why the hell would we fight those ships? What do they have that we want? We deal in guns, ammo, military tech, and protection. Those ships have food, water, climate control devices... all useless." He growled. "And believe me, the last thing I want is Corneria on my ass again. I don't want to have that fox flying through and smashing up this base like he did the last one."

"But you were seen near those ships."

"Yes. They paid for protection. But they didn't pay enough. We were outnumbered, and couldn't fend them off."

Fox grit his teeth. Something about that didn't seem right. Wolf stretched out his hand. "Now, the records?"

"That's it? That's all you're giving me?"

"I gave you the truth. Now, the records."

Fox reached into his pocket and pulled out his tablet. Wolf, in turn, brought out his own. It only took a few seconds to beam them over. Wolf scrolled down the list, musing. The break gave Fox a chance to stare uncontested. His rival looked older than he was expecting. By now, hints of lighter gray were starting to show in his blackish fur. The years hadn't been kind to him.

Wolf pocketed the device again. "Now, there's this little issue where I don't trust you. Until you clear up your identity, I'm having Leon lock you away."

Fox stared. "I thought we—"

Wolf cut him off with a growl. "If there's anything else you'd like to tell me before this conversation ends, now's your chance."

Fox flattened himself against the wall. He had nothing. The seconds rolled by, and Wolf was like a statue, staring him down, waiting for his confession. It didn't come. Wolf pulled away with a frown.

"You remind me of that fox. It pisses me off."

That was the last he heard before the doors whirred open. Something cold pressed to the small of his back. A jolt ran through his body; he hissed, and the world went white.


	3. Fall from Grace

This took a while to get out, despite it (and the following three chapters) being drafted in its entirety several months ago; that's partially because I've been busy, but mostly because I found myself quite demotivated once I posted the last chapter.

If you enjoy reading it, let me know. I hope to be quicker in the future, but I consider it an accomplishment getting this chapter out at all.

As always, thanks extend to the gay and glorious tldrOtter, without whom the very first chapter would have never been posted.

* * *

Fox awoke to nothing but the dull whir of old electronics around him. The room looked more like an old abandoned storage closet than a prison cell, but the cuffs fastened behind his back made his situation crystal clear.

It'd be too easy to panic, and most men in his situation would: there was something terrifying about ordering your hands to move and being denied the result with a hard, painful catch on the wrist. Training kicked in: Fox closed his eyes and focused on his senses, on the sounds and sensations around him, and he noticed there was perhaps a bit too much give than his captors would have hoped for if he worked his hands a particular way...

He pulled his legs up against his chest. It took quite some time, but finally, he did it; he managed to coax his flexible form into forcing his hands underneath his rump, so that his hands were now bound in front of his chest. From there, it was matter of bringing the cuffs up to his mouth and getting his teeth to do to the work a proper pick was meant for.

He wasn't sure how long it took, but finally, the damned things snapped off. He set them behind him, and resumed the same position as before; seated, hands folded behind his back. No one would know the difference.

Minutes ticked by, and he was sure he was going to piss himself if no one came to get him. Finally, the door slid open and in stepped that damn chameleon. The freak stepped forward, licking his lips. Fox didn't know what he had planned and he didn't care; once he was close, Fox's hands lashed out and sealed around the lizard's neck.

Leon may have been many things—cruel, deranged, cunning—but all that aside, he was frail, and when he lacked trickery and surprise, he was weak. Fox felt little sympathy as the chameleon's scales discolored, his scaled hands grasped feebly at Fox's wrist, and slowly, his eyes rolled up.

Not dead. Still breathing. Unconscious. Good. He fastened the cuffs around Leon's wrist and pushed him into a corner, leaving him alone. Fox reached for his communicator and punched in the passcode. He gave a quick scan to the area to ensure there were no cameras, then opened the channel.

Ten seconds later, a holo of Peppy's grim face materialized. "Fox? Is that—"

"I'm Fox," he said. "I don't have much time. I'll keep it quick. I'm on Wolf's base. He might be our enemy, but he's not the enemy here. He doesn't know who I am yet, but I don't think I have any choice but to make myself known and cooperate with him if I want to get to the bottom of this."

Peppy frowned. "If he's not behind the attacks, then who—"

"I don't know, Peppy. I've got a bad feeling about this. I think something's seriously wrong here if someone's outfighting Wolf's gang in his territory."

"Are you in danger? Do you think he'll cooperate?"

Fox shook his head. "I haven't got the faintest idea. Look, Peppy, I need to run before they find out I've escaped." He ignored the concerned raise of the hare's brows at that word. "I'm going to schedule four messages from my comm. One in two hours, one in four, one in eight, and one in twenty-four. Okay? Write this down."

Peppy's face disappeared for a moment, then materialized again a moment later. "Two, four, eight, twenty-four. Yes?"

"Yes. If you receive any of these messages, then something has gone wrong. I'll cancel them all one-by-one if the time nears and I'm safe. Alright? If you get a message from me, then I want you to grab whatever mercs you can, and I want you to storm this place, alright?"

"What place?"

Fox grunted. "The message will contain the coordinates."

Peppy frowned. "So I won't know where you are unless you're in danger? I don't like this, Fox."

"You need to trust me, Peppy. I don't want anyone to know where I am and what I'm doing. No one. Got it?"

Peppy sighed. "Alright, Fox. I'll be on the lookout."

"Good. I've got to run. I'll be in contact, hopefully later rather than sooner."

He didn't wait for a response to end the call. Once the messages were scheduled, he headed over to Leon's limp form and grabbed the access card from his back pocket, then tugged away his blaster, too, for good measure. It took a single swipe to unlock the door, and out he went.

...into the mess of halls he could never hope to fathom. "Dammit," he muttered. How the hell was he supposed to find Wolf?

A single pair of footsteps caught his ear, down the turn in the hallway to his right. A somber grin came over his snout as he hefted Leon's blaster.

That was how.

* * *

It'd taken only two minutes with a blaster pointed at the ape's skull to get the location, and a whole ten to find it. Fox was scared out of his mind, but fear was no excuse. This had to be done.

Seventh floor. 744. Fox swiped Leon's key in the door, knowing full and well it would fail—and knowing that resulting whine the security system made could be heard inside.

A minute later, the door slid open. His previous encounter with Wolf had done little to steel him for a second. It wasn't anger that met him on Wolf's grizzled snout, though, but curiosity; a tilted snout, a forward lean, and of course, the customary blaster pointed straight at Fox's face.

"You escape your hold... and you run back to me?"

The question did a fantastic job of making Fox feel like an idiot. "Let me in. I need to talk to you."

"Talk here." Wolf spat the words.

"Alone."

Wolf growled. His arm extended forward, just a single inch; it was all that was necessary to nearly push the bayonet clipped to his blaster against Fox's suit. "I won't play your games. I'm sick of them. What do you want? Do you want to fight? You want a job? You want to fuck? Because unless you identify yourself right now, I'm going to—"

Fox snarled. "Wolf!" Think, Fox, think. He needed a way to identify himself, one that wouldn't give himself away if there were someone else watching the cameras monitoring the halls.

The words came to him. Echoes of words once spoken to him, the words that rang in his head during the final moments of the aparoid queen's life. "You want to shoot me? Then get on with it. Don't hesitate. Just act." He met Wolf's eye as he said those final four words.

Wolf was quiet for what seemed like an eternity. His eye deadened. Then narrowed. Then widened. His grip on the blaster loosened, and the arm fell to his side.

Had it really been less than a year since Wolf had said those words to him? It felt like an eternity, like the words had been etched somewhere deep in his brain for as long as he could remember. He'd lost count of the number of times they'd spurred him to action. Uttering them in that moment was as much a confession of his identity to Wolf was it was a confession of how the older man's words had stuck with him so deeply ever since that fateful day in the smoky remnants of Corneria city.

Fox wasn't sure what kind of reaction he was expecting when he made the reveal. Disbelief, anger, irritation. Never sadness. But Wolf's posture drooped like that was exactly what he was feeling.

"Fox fucking McCloud. No one else knows those words. No one." Wolf sounded tired, and his eyes didn't leave Fox. "No one."

It was a meeting a long time coming. Wolf's eyes locked on his and the fur on the back of Fox's neck rose. What he saw on Wolf's snout was eerily reminiscent of what had no doubt been on his own earlier: finally, seeing the one who'd given you so much hell for ten years in person... it felt different than he'd expected, somehow.

And then Wolf was snarling. His arm jerked out, and the sharp metal of the door-frame groaned out as Wolf struck it. "Get in." The few seconds of hesitation Fox had was enough for the same hand that had almost destroyed the frame to reach in and grasp hold of Fox's wrist, jerking him sharply inside. "Get _in_ ," Wolf hissed.

Fox stumbled to keep his balance, but the moment he regained his footing, Wolf was shoving him towards the bathroom. The brute of a wolf was pushing him around like some kind of child.

"Go wash that off." His eye was on Fox's white fur.

Fox bared his teeth. "You have no idea how long it took to—"

"I don't care." Wolf placed a hand on Fox's chest and shoved him back, drawing a swear and a low, annoyed grumble. "No more hiding, Fox."

He could sense his rival's frustration. A moment passed before he nodded. It felt a bit strange when he realized he was agreeing more out of sympathy than fear.

* * *

It was the longest, most discomfiting shower Fox had ever taken. It felt like twenty minutes later when he finally emerged, pulled his clothes up around his now-orange fur, and strapped his communicator back on. He stared at himself in the mirror for far too long in a failed attempt at procrastination before stepping back out.

Wolf was quiet. Fox was, too. The older canine had taken a seat at the base of his bed, and when Fox emerged, Wolf barely so much as sent him a glance. Fox padded over and sat down beside the male, and the silence carried on.

It'd been ten years since they'd first met in the skies. Ten years of bitter rivalry. Countless crossings on missions. Countless duels in the sky. Countless flashes of panic when Fox thought he saw the red glint of his rival's Wolfen on even the most mundane of missions. There had been only a single pause in their seemingly interminable standoff, and that was only when the entire galaxy was crumbling around them.

"You just can't stay well enough away, can you, Fox?"

Fox rolled his eyes. "I follow trouble. Funny how it keeps leading to you."

Wolf laughed. "You've got the whole damn system wanting to suck your dick, and you still go sneaking away looking for trouble."

"Look, I'm not out to fight you, if that's what you're worried about. Those ships need—"

"Bullshit."

Fox frowned. "All I want is to pro—"

Wolf leaned over closer. "Bullshit."

Fox growled. He sat up straighter and turned to face his rival. His pulse was shooting up. "Can you listen? I—"

"Bullllllllllllshit." Fox snarled and his hands tightened into fists. If that word had droned on for just a single second longer, he would have punched Wolf right there. "You don't give a fuck about those ships. Don't play that goody-two-shoes game with me, like you're some kind of goddamn sain—"

Fox jumped at him.

That was a mistake.

Fox's arms groaned out in protest as Wolf's snared him in a grapple and forced him back. Wolf leaned in and let out a _roar_ that made Fox's ears flatten to his skull. Fox pulled away, jerked his arms free, and—

And Wolf was on top of him, snarling in his face. Inch-long fangs snapped just a couple of inches from Fox's nose, spurring the automated, so very _prey_ reflex of ducking his head down to cover his neck. Fox bared his own teeth in response, but it did nothing but expose how vulnerable he felt, like a scared, cornered dog—and how, despite his most valiant attempts to puff himself up, even in his fiercest moments, he couldn't compete with Wolf. It spurred a primal fear in him that Fox had rarely ever confronted, one that made him back away and barely quell a whimper.

Wolf leaned in so close Fox could nearly feel his breath, but Fox's eyes couldn't leave those teeth. They weren't as pretty as Fox's, that was for sure: they were thick and long, meant to kill. "You should know better than to take fights you can't win, Fox."

Fox was no stranger to a brawl, but Wolf probably spent his whole life in fist-fights; a mercenary overlord like him didn't stay on top if he couldn't hold his own in a scrap. Years and years of fights just like this one had engineered a marvel of a combatant in Wolf, one that knew exactly where to apply pressure to prevent movement, exactly where to direct that lone eye to hunt out weaknesses, and exactly what moves would get the biggest rise out of Fox.

All throughout this time, Wolf's eye had been unblinkingly staring down at him, drinking and relishing in the fear his prey displayed, no doubt a catch that he'd been waiting on for years. His nose-tip twitched, blatantly drinking in the scent of Fox's fear as ardently as Fox _refused_ to take in Wolf's.

Wolf was toying with him. He held Fox down with his body weight and a single arm, and the other one pressed a claw along Fox's neck, drawing a line of fire on the sensitive skin under his coat. "I could kill you right here, if I wanted." All it would take is one flick of the wrist. "I've killed men for less hell than you've given me." Again, lower his snout went, until his lips were an inch from the bowl of Fox's ear. "You're lucky I like you."

He spoke the words as if they weren't utterly absurd, coming from a man with a claw to his neck like that. Wolf straddled the line of death so expertly and effortlessly that it almost felt erotic. The air was thick with pungent scents: tension, fear, and something else Fox couldn't place.

"Wolf. Please."

Wolf threw his head back and laughed. Fox closed his eyes, defeated. Wolf picked his weight up off Fox's chest, but the smaller male still didn't move until his heart stopped pounding. It must have been an eternity. Somewhere deep inside, Fox had hoped that unmasking his identity would give their relationship more equity than he'd seen wearing Renard's white coat, but Wolf was so quick to remind him that it didn't matter _who_ he was dealing with: he was always overbearing, and whatever hopes Fox had of putting on a strong face for his old rival had fallen flat.

Wolf stood in front of him, thick arms crossed. Fox sat up, staring up at his rival.

What was the proper response, here? To lunge at him, again, just to be served the same humiliation? To give in and embrace the defeat? To pull out a blaster he didn't have, just to get laughed at down its barrel? To tell Peppy to get the hell over here and lock this bastard up?

He ought to be angry and infuriated—and he _was_ —but he hated that in that moment, his mission needed Wolf, and Fox needed his mission. "You're the only lead I've got. I need your help." He drew in a deep breath. And it wasn't until he saw Wolf's mouth curl into an unironic grin that he realized how desperate he'd sounded.

Wolf pointed a finger down at Fox, brandishing that same claw that'd earlier toyed with his neck. "I don't want to work with you."

He said it with such finality that it made Fox's ears wilt, and the moment the words died on the air, Wolf was turning away, heading over to the little fridge in the corner of his room, like the conversation was _done_. Fox managed to sit up. "Why?"

"You're a damn good pilot. But you're a lousy partner." Wolf had grabbed a small bottle of water, and he tilted it up his lips, downing a few swallows. He wasn't even looking at Fox.

"What do you know about working with me? We flew together once—and we _crushed_."

"Good pilot. Lousy partner."

"Drop the act. You remember that time I rode on your wing. We were fine partners. Dammit, Wolf, _look at me_."

Wolf turned and met his gaze. It was eerie as always, staring at someone with only one eye. Fox wasn't sure where to look; the intensity of Wolf's stare was piercing, and the words that followed were laced with bitterness.

"Where were you?"

"Where... when?"

"You _know_ what I mean, Fox. Where the fuck were you when that planet blew up?"

Was that hurt in his voice? "After the Aparoids, you mean? I thought..."

Wolf closed the distance between them, so he was standing right in front of the sitting Fox. "You left me to die."

"I thought..."

What _had_ he thought?

It was a distant memory now. Eight months that felt like eight years. He remembered firing the program into the Aparoid Queen, then just barely boosting his team out of the planet's core before it fractured and exploded. Fear—he remembered that clearly enough, once he realized that the whole damn planet was like one living aparoid freakshow and it was all coming down around him. Relief, once he received the signal that Peppy'd managed to jettison himself out the escape pod and survive after all. And giddiness, as he realized that the nightmare-turn-massacre was finally over.

And, an afterthought. Maybe Wolf had managed to survive, too. But there was no time for that. No, he had to get back and deliver the news. He had a million people reaching out to him. Call after all. Endless cheering from his teammates. Dwindling vitals from Peppy. It would have been ludicrous to delay to scan the empty space for Wolf.

He'd been quiet for a while, and Wolf was still staring down at him with the same pointed look.

"You really expect me to sit here and listen to _you_ lecture _me_ about morality?"

"Yes," Wolf snapped. "Because it was fucked up, and even _I_ know it."

What did Wolf want, an apology? "You don't know what it's like. I had the entire system waiting on me, and Peppy needed aid. I figured you'd find a way to make it. You're clever. You..."

" _Next_." The word came out like he was firing bullets at Fox, and apparently, he had a whole clip. "Even if you couldn't spare a minute of your precious time then, where were you when the dust settled? It's been eight months."

"Corneria needed help. Hundreds needed rescuing."

"You got your big, fat paycheck and sat on your heels. Where was my cut, to pay for the base you destroyed?" Fox opened his mouth to speak—the paycheck was barely enough to cover debt he'd inherited from James for the first Great Fox, let alone pay for another to get him out on the skies again—but Wolf kept going. "Where was my cut, to pay for putting my ass on the line just as many times as you had?"

"If it's money you want, I can try ta—"

"And where, McCloud, _where_... was even a single damn mention of my name? A single damn thanks?"

Fox had nothing to say to that.

There'd only been a few times in his life anyone had talked to him like this. Sure, he'd gotten shit before, but this? It was scolding: legitimate, deserved scolding, and it hurt, because he knew Wolf was right.

And it struck him in that moment that he knew precious little about the older man. For as long as he could remember, Wolf had existed as nothing but a standard by which to measure himself, and that had been one of the few real constants in his life: the notion that, no matter how good Fox got, Wolf was always out there, and he never gave up, never stopped lusting for a fight, and never stopped improving. Never had Fox given any thought to the man behind that brutish figure that so often snarled at him from behind the comms. In retrospect, he'd always thought of Wolf like a machine, of sorts: unfeeling, constantly evolving in a search for any chance to capitalize on Fox's weakness.

"I'm sorry," he said. The words were feeble and unconvincing. "But it's not like I could just show up on your doorstep and thank you, and don't act like you wouldn't be _insulted_ if I offered to help you out. It's not like we have a history of being nice. You said yourself that you only saved me because..."

Wolf had let out a sigh and turned around, pacing. He didn't look angry anymore; just sad. And somehow, that was worse. Fox didn't know Wolf well enough to gauge if he should be trying to comfort him, or trying to piss him off again.

"...because," Fox continued on auto-pilot, dimly aware that he wasn't doing a good job of either of those, "you wanted to be the one to..."

Wolf shook his head, slowly, then pointed an arm toward the door. "...just go."

It took Fox a moment to steady his voice. "I can make this right, Wolf."

"Right. As soon as it's convenient to you. But I can't afford to waste my day arguing with you. _Go_."

"I can't exactly go waltzing out of here. I don't want the whole damn station to know who I—"

Wolf growled, then stepped away. He opened the closet across from the bathroom's entrance, and tossed what looked like a shrouded mask over at Fox. It landed on his snout and obscured his vision.

Wolf didn't say another word. They were done.

* * *

Five nervous minutes later, he was back in his ship, pulling Wolf's garment off his head and pushing it under his seat.

His disguise was ruined. His mission was failed. All his life he'd had his team behind him and it had seemed so easy to make the right move, but now, solo, he'd wasted a week on this pointless mission and he had nothing to show for it but one of Wolf's masks and the insight that the man was both more real and more bitter than he expected.

And now his ship smelled like Wolf. Fox found himself breathing through his mouth, because just that hint of his old rival's scent was enough bring back the feeling of utter helplessness he'd felt beneath the ruffian.

He'd failed with Wolf, who'd treated him like a toy—keeping him around for just as long as it was entertaining to fuck with him, before throwing him out. So, who could he turn to? What friends did he really have? If he opened up his comm and scrolled down the contacts, he'd have to sort through the mass of politicians, military, and tech company reps to find the few he really cared about.

Peppy. He had a job now, and he was damn good at it. Lylat needed him. Politics needed him. And even if that weren't all true, there'd always been that divide between them, the knowledge that Peppy had once flown alongside James. Peppy was more stepfather than friend.

Slippy. No, Slippy was living the life. A dream job at a perfect tech company. And that girl he had—Fox would have never thought Slippy had it in him to date, but to get engaged? He couldn't fuck with that.

Krystal. A failure of a relationship had left things nothing but bitter between them. And even before things soured, he couldn't even get near her without feeling that creeping feeling on the nape of his neck that she was peering into his skull, reading things she had no right to see.

Falco. Falco... Fox shook his head.

All that had come to mind were former teammates. If he thought back to academy days, there were still a few he was decent friends with. Bill, for instance. But hell, he didn't even know what the husky was up to these days. It left a sour feeling in his gut that some of the most genuine conversation of late he'd had was with Valen.

Fox wondered to what extent Wolf was a lost cause. His rival had been both bitter and unfair. Fox wanted to fix things, but then again, if he thought back, there wasn't exactly anything to fix, was there? At least he'd walked away with his head intact.

Fox grabbed his tablet.

 _Peppy,_

 _I've finished investigating Star Wolf. They're uncooperative, but with reasonable certainty I can report that they aren't attacking the ships. I'll provide a more detailed report tomorrow. There's likely not much more I can do here on my own. It's too dangerous._

 _Forward me the details of the escort mission. I'll accompany the next ship._

 _Bestm,_

 _Fox_

He didn't notice the typo until after he sent it. He wanted the hurl the damned thing, and he likely would have if he had enough room in the cockpit to wind back his arm. Instead, he took a deep breath and opened his calendar.

Banquet on Tuesday. Academy lesson Wednesday. Outreach event downtown on Thursday. One by one, the boxes in his schedule filled in, a combination of obligations and commissions with paychecks he couldn't turn down, paychecks he needed to stay afloat. Finally, he came to Saturday. There were more than enough offers to fill it up that space, but in his off-time, a wide-open Saturday was a sacred tradition.

 _You want to find work, I can help you out._ He still remembered Valen's words. That was a lead if he'd ever had one, Wolf be damned.

A few seconds later, the box read **Meteo**. Damn if his curiosity didn't get the better of him. He wanted to put the tablet aside, again, but once more... something gave him pause. He'd already sent one message to Peppy—could another hurt?

Fox opened another window and started typing.

 _Peppy,_ he started. _Can we chat sometime about Wolf?_


	4. Foolish Game

This is a shorter chapter, but I wanted to post _something_ to convince everyone I'm not dead; the next (very long) scene needs some tuning and lately I've been writing ahead rather than editing behind. I'll make it up to you by giving sort of an update on the story overall: currently I've written around 40,000 words, which I'd guess takes us up to about chapter 7 or 8. I'm pretty happy with it up until that point, and I'd guess maybe the entire story will end up being around 60,000 or so, but don't quote me on that.

Thanks to the usual folk. Leave a comment or review if you'd like, and I'm always look for people interested in lending an eye to the 20,000 unposted words.

* * *

The sting of the cold night air was a welcome counterweight against the dull throb in his head. Corneria park had been fortunate enough to emerge mostly unscathed from the battle, and restoring it back to its former glory had been one of the first goals of the reconstruction effort. Benches lined the path and branches formed a small canopy overhead; the whole thing had been constructed to give the illusion of days thousand years past, when you could still find little patches of the planet where the chaos of nature ruled. Fox wondered how accurate it was: no living creature had seen raw _nature_ , and even photographs were near impossible to find.

This was one of the few places he could find serenity, these days, and despite its huge expanse, Fox knew the place well enough to know exactly which trees had been replanted, what cobblestone had been relaid, and what grass had been resewn after the battle. He'd been the first to argue with the council against a commemorative statue following the war in the park's center, because that was the last thing he wanted to see on his morning runs or evening walks.

And, of course, he was rarely all alone: the night wouldn't be complete without passing by the occasional jogger or couple seated benchside, and it always struck him how _happy_ the common folk appeared. For as long as he could remember, he'd envied people who could be so content with what seemed to be so little: men who worked a day job they had little care for, then returned at night to a lover who seemed to exist only to absolve the need for growth, to convince him his life is meaningful. Such a stagnant existence—where was the drive and passion, and how were these aimless people happier than Fox? He was so out of touch with that reality that the notion seemed absurd, but he supposed he should take some solace in knowing it was because of him that people could pass through their lives with such little strife.

Out here, Fox had no company but his own thoughts, but lately, they hadn't been particularly pleasant.

" _I have a group of kids who'd just love to have a demonstration." I don't handle that personally, ma'am; I'll give you my agent's number._

" _These kids are hurting so much. They've all lost their families, and our shelter just can't afford to feed them all. Our rejection rate is so high. We could really use donations, or even just your presence at a fundraiser." I'm sorry, but I don't really have any funds to spare, sir. I'll give you my agent's number, if you want to negotiate a fundraiser._

" _Can we do this off the books? I know you're very busy, but we swear it will only be an hour, and it would really help our charity if—" I'm sorry, but I really can't do that._

" _I just saw you on the holo last week. You have the time to star in these big corporate commercials, but I have to tell my kids we can't afford to bring you in. I'm a little bit disappointed."_

It had been a long week, and there was too much to do for a man whose only skill was raining death from the skies. He'd long since given up on trying to keep everyone happy—otherwise, it'd be damn near impossible to get through the day. Sometimes, though, the words just kept coming back.

" _You left me to_ _die_ _."_

The later it got in the week the more Fox found himself looking forward to heading back to Meteo and sticking his nose where it didn't belong, if only because no one expected a damn thing of Renard. Part of him was hoping that he'd run into his old rival again, with silly aspirations of repairing a relationship that had never been good in the first place. All history with the man aside, the finality of their last conversation bothered him: Fox felt as if he'd fucked something up for good out of sheer obliviousness and he'd never be able to salvage it. Then again, that he was concerned about Wolf at all aside from his suspicious involvement in the ship raids spoke volumes of the state of Fox's personal and professional life, both.

Maybe if he weren't so overwhelmed with all this shit he'd been roped into doing for this city of millions, he would have had attention to spare for individuals. But it wasn't as if Fox could just stop everything; people needed him, and he needed the money. Fox ought to be disappointed that Wolf hadn't bothered trying to understand Fox's perspective, but by now whatever pretense of a bridge had existed between he and Fox was long burned. Chances seemed slim of even getting hold of Wolf again.

Ah, well. Fox's footsteps carried him off the path, into the wooded neck of the park, and he kicked back against a tree, bringing up his comm.

It took fifteen seconds for Peppy's face to flash in front of him.

"Hey, Fox. How ya been? Just finished looking over your report this morning..."

"I've been pretty bored, Pep. Thoughts?"

"Well, let's see here." Peppy's eyes looked downward, and the sound of pages flipping drifted through the comms. "Hm. Well, if you say Wolf checks out, then I have to take your word for it. I trust you."

"He isn't our guy, that's for sure. Not that I wouldn't like to see him locked up..."

"You mentioned him a couple days ago."

"Yeah." Fox sighed. "He's still got that big bounty on his head, right? There anything you could do about that?"

"You want me to make it go away?" Peppy's nose twitched when he was surprised. "Musta made one hell of a good impression on ya, Fox."

Fox shook his head. "Wolf is an ass. But he kind of had a point, don't you think? We were pretty big jerks to him, all things considered. We left them behind and didn't really give them any credit for helping out."

"I really didn't think they'd want that kind of recognition."

"I don't think they did, either, but I guess it sort of stings, seeing us get it all. And we did sort of abandon them, back on the homeworld."

"Yeah." Peppy flipped a few more pages again, then cleared his throat. "Well... okay, sure. So I could talk about nulling that bounty. Maybe I could even look into getting a story out in the papers about Star Wolf—I know a couple reporters. But, this ain't gonna put them all in the clear. Not even close."

"Explain?"

"Wolf has a lot of open investigations. He's suspicious. He ever touches down on Corneria, we'll have probable cause to search his ass, and I can guarantee we'll find something worth locking him up over."

"Fine. That's fair. Still.. don't you think this is worth doing, as a token of goodwill? It'd give me a bargaining chip, if nothing else."

Peppy shrugged. "I don't know. If you think so, then sure. I can pull some strings. I mean, I really don't care about locking him up that much. And it's not like we have a fund set aside for that bounty, or anything."

"Do it, and let me know how it goes."

"Sure." He was silent for a while, squinting down, probably scribbling something on that pad of his. "So what's your plan, then, Fox? You trying to work with Wolf?"

Fox frowned. "I don't think Wolf wants much to do with me, and I really don't know how much I can trust him. I'll keep my options open, and maybe once we get that bounty squared away, he'll be more cooperative." He thought back to the diminutive fox crouched down in the corner of that bar. "But for now, I have a lead in Meteo I want to investigate."

"Alright. Keep me updated!"

They said their farewells and the call ended. Fox kicked off the tree and headed back onto the path to finish his round. He let his thoughts wander, and his feet walked the familiar path almost on their own, until...

 _Huh_.

He'd walked this trail almost daily for eight months now, and that meant it was very easy for him to tell when something was different. It was more an intuitive sense than a rational one: one moment he was pathing his way down the winding cobble at his regular pace, and on the next step his foot hesitated ever so slightly when the sense hit him that something wasn't quite right.

He kept his usual pace for a while, but at the next bend in the path, he paused. One hand went to his comm. Faint blue from the holographic interface mixed with the yellow-orange ambient lighting in the park, and he pointed his arm back in the direction he'd come. _Scanning_. A small red dot showed on the interface, some hundred feet behind him.

Fox's hand instinctively went towards his blaster, concealed at his side. But for the moment, he stayed it and continued on along his path. At the next bend, he scanned behind again, to the same result.

And then his blaster was brandished and he'd turned himself around, watching the dot retreat as he prowled towards it. Into the foliage, it went, off the worn cobble path. Fox broke into the clearing of a field, and...

It was gone.

Now that was strange. If someone had shown up, it would have been far from the first time he'd been threatened or stalked, and to be honest, Fox had been looking forward to a fight more than he would've liked to admit. That last scuffle with Wolf had left him something to prove.

He had the distinct feeling that someone was spying on him. He pulled up his comm and dialed up a cab.

* * *

 _You sure don't give up easy_. He'd heard it before, spilling from Peppy's tongue. It was just a nicer way of calling him stubborn, phrased as a compliment. It was always hard to judge when persistence was something to admire versus something to mock. Sitting there with his fur bleached white, condensation from a piss-flavored beer dampening his fingers, and both eyes staring at Valen, he knew Peppy would say it was the latter.

And so he was here, listening to Valen narrating the raid he'd pulled off earlier in the week. Petty thievery, the lot of it. Fox nodded his head when appropriate and got in a word when he could. He'd spent enough time speaking at parties and galas to know how this went: let the other man get his say, ask a few specific questions to put up the pretense of investment, and then you get yours.

Valen finished his story by downing the rest of his glass in a single go. "Wasn't good, but it's the best we got. Business gone to shit, ever since interplanetary got suspended."

Fox took a drink from his own glass. "Guess it doesn't help that Wolf is eating up all the business in his little sector, eh?"

Valen shrugged. "Always been that way in Meteo. Problem is, all the mercs are flocking over here now. Oversaturation." He pushed his beer back. His suit was tight enough to show off how slender he was; it was a wonder Valen could hold his own in a fight when he had so little bulk. "He's... been a lot more antsy, lately. Used to be, he could take a joke, you know? Some little weapons ship stocked with hand-me-down arms goes missing, he looks the other way."

"But not anymore."

The other fox shook his head. "Ever since that old base of his got shot out. Guy's scared shitless that McCloud is gonna be on his ass again. Don't blame him. Doubt he could survive another wipe."

More often than not he and Wolf's meetings ended with fried shields, busted wings, or outright ruined ships. The encounter in Sargasso certainly hadn't seemed out of the ordinary to Fox: just another dogfight like any other. In retrospect, maybe that was a mistake.

"That why Wolf hates him so much?" Valen didn't immediately answer, so Fox continued. "I mean, I'm sure pirates are on his ass all the time, but..."

Valen seemed bored with the conversation; his eyes were following something behind Fox. Fox turned his head, glancing over his shoulder, and... sure enough, some fifty feet behind him, the wolfess standing up on the stage had ditched her bra. Her breasts were unreasonably huge, to the point that they just had to be artificial.

Far more interesting to Fox's eye was the feline sitting right in front of her, drooling. Panther Caruso. Hell. When did _he_ show up? Fox guessed Panther hadn't seen him yet, crouched in the corner of the bar as he was, and Fox turned back around quickly so that Panther didn't get a look at his snout.

Panther was his point of contact with Wolf, and as risky as it was, this was too convenient to pass up. He knew this was a regular hangout of Panther's, but even after last week? Part of him had been hoping for it, but he definitely hadn't expected it. _Everything_ was going right, today, wasn't it? All he had to do was get Panther alone again...

It felt good to be back in action, even if it was solo.

"Hell if I know," Valen said when the wolfess turned the other way. He leaned forward and braced himself on the table with his elbows, eyes meeting Fox's. And he grinned. "I got a theory, though. You wanna know what I think?"

Fox nodded, trying to quiet his thoughts and focus on the conversation at hand. Valen looked like an armchair sports analyst about to spill his theory on why this year the Huskies would wipe the floor with the Firebirds. This was all a game to him—to him and all the other overgeared mercs out in this bar. Their version of celebrity drama.

"I think they fucked." The words were so crisp that it took Fox a minute to process just what the other male had said. "You know, couple years back. Or hell, maybe right when the Aparoids hit. Then something went wrong, shit blew up, and now they hate each others' guts."

Fox guffawed. The sheer ludicrousy of it. Valen flashed him a rather smug grin, like he took great pride in parroting this sort of bullshit. "Good, isn't it?"

"You're shitting me."

"Nope. Serious as an engine failure."

"You're fucking with me. You have to be."

"What's the matter with that picture, huh?"

Fox sighed. "They're enemies. Hate each other's guts and always have. And I'm pretty sure neither of them is gay."

Valen's head tilted and he looked at Fox like he was an idiot. "It's pretty common knowledge that Wolf is gay. And Fox has that scarf. Doesn't that—what?"

Fox was shaking his head. "I want a glass of whatever it is you're drinking. Because of the scarf? Really?" The scarf had been James's, back in the day. And oh, _hell,_ had James been straight.

Valen shrugged. "Whatever. You asked." Apparently, Fox wasn't looking any less indignant, because Valen huffed and leaned in. "Look, I get you've got this fucking hero worship complex going on about Wolf, but chill. It's not like I'm saying he ain't tough. You gotta be a real badass to be a faggot out here. I got a lot of respect for the guy." He smirked. "Besides, way you keep asking about him, I'd think you'd be happy to find out he likes bending over pretty-boy foxes."

The words were light-hearted, but they made Fox roll his eyes. "Jackass." There was no response, and silence dragged on. Fox didn't exactly want to say any more about that, so it was time to change the topic. "I got to thinking about what you said last time, by the way. Maybe that tiger—what's her name?"

"Shaela."

"Yeah, Shaela. Maybe it isn't such a bad idea to see what you got."

Valen sighed. He was silent for a while, like he was thinking."...alright. Only because I like you. There's another cartel shipment I got wind of. Well-guarded. Their flight path's a bit of the way, but if—"

Fox shook his head. "I'm a merc, not a smuggler. I don't deal in drugs."

Valen scoffed. "Oh, please. Couple months out here and you'll chuck that goody-two-shoes shit out the airlock."

"Can the superiority complex. I want a contract with a salary and anonymity." Valen laughed. Fox's fur stood on end and he growled. "Look, I know I'm fucking good enough. I'm a better pilot than anyone in the room. You want to see proof, we can hit up the sims."

"Yeah, I'm sure you're the best. You and everyone else who walks in the door. Cool your engines, hotshot." The words were damn infuriating and drew a growl from Fox.

"I can prove it." Fox lifted his rump enough to fish out his wallet. Out came a card, dropping down on the table in front of Valen. "S-rank, military entrance exam." Then a folded up slip of paper. "CFA exam scores. Top one percent of all academy graduates." The documents were all real; having a high-up friend in the military had its benefits. Good old Peppy. "You give me work, I don't disappoint."

"Well, how about that." Valen let out a resigned sigh. He was silent for a while, thinking, then leaned forward over the table, and dropped his voice. "Since you're so confident, I got somethin' that might interest you. Dangerous mission. Lost some crew last time, but the pay's per enemy ship downed."

Fox leaned in closer, mirroring the other fox. "Yeah? When?"

"It ain't quite that easy." For a while, Valen was silent, staring off around the room like he was thinking. "You come talk to me next week. I'll pull some strings, see if I have anything to tell you. I got a crew that could use a couple more wings, but let's just say the boss-man don't trust easy."

Fox squinted. What could make Valen, who bragged so openly about raiding merchant vessels, be this cautious? "Next week, then. Alright."

Check one box off the list. There was just one more thing to do.

* * *

Fox perched himself outside the club's entrance, leaned up against the wall. A good half-hour passed before he saw the black-furred feline slip out of the bar's entrance, then fell into step a good way behind him. Panther saw him coming this time and worked himself into a cute shuffle trying to lose him, but Fox couldn't be thrown off easily. Before too long, Panther had his back to the wall, growling back at Fox, who was quick to brandish a blaster at Panther's skull.

Panther wasn't as imposing as Wolf, but he was tall, and his strikingly handsome features prohibited him from looking scary, even with his fangs bared. "Is this really necessary? Haven't we already been through this once?"

At least it seemed Wolf hadn't squealed his identity just yet. "I'd like to talk with Wolf again, but I don't want to go just barging in to his ship."

"And?"

"His number. I need it. You're going to tell me how I can reach him, and then you'll _never_ mention this to him. Or I'll find you."

Panther sucked his teeth. "You really could have just asked. You must have _really_ pissed him off if you're acting like this." He tilted his head. "That was you that choked out Leon, wasn't it?"

Of course he couldn't have just asked; he likely couldn't have approached Panther without provoking hostility, and both of them knew it. Still, buried there at the end of Panther's groveling was a precious little tidbit of information. Fox knew he shouldn't give away any more than he had to—he still wasn't sure if he and Star Wolf would be friends or enemies, in the end—but curiosity got the better of him. He leaned in. "What did he say?"

"I ought to ask _you._ I sure don't know. He locked himself in his room and barely said a word the whole rest of the week."

Fox smirked. "How... _cute_."

"Cute? You look his type. Did you—"

Fox hissed. He brought his blaster in close and primed his finger on the trigger. "How about I do you like I did Leon?" Renard was nothing if not vicious, and he clearly spoke Panther's language, because the response was to shrink down and look up with ears down.

"Mercy. I'll tell you. I'll give you his number."

"Was that so hard? Say it."

Fox could feel Panther fuming. This was almost too easy. He couldn't believe Panther would come to the same place like this two weeks in a row after what happened last time. On so many levels it was just such a _stupid_ thing to do. It was almost too easy. It... it _was_ too easy. In his hubris and eagerness to get back into the game, Fox perhaps hadn't been as cautious as he should have.

The first sign that something was wrong was the scent. He didn't know Panther's scent that well, but he knew something in the air was off. The second much more obvious one was the loud crash of a booted foot behind him. And then the prick of a blade against his neck.

"Don't move." He'd recognize that voice anywhere, if only by the way it made the fur on his neck stand tall. Damn it all. This was _not_ how he wanted to run into Wolf.

 _Fuck._

"Boss?" Panther looked about as surprised as Fox felt.

Fox hissed. His tail lashed behind him. If he could duck behind Panther's ship, maybe he'd be safe. There was another ship behind him he could take cover under if he could get a stunning blow on Wolf, which wasn't likely. His own ship was on the complete opposite side of the hangar, though, so escaping was going to be tough shit.

"I thought I told you to scram. And here you are." The tip of Wolf's bayonet dug into the back of his neck enough that Fox winced and wondered if he'd break skin. "Snooping around. Threatening my teammates, _again_."

The last thing he wanted was Wolf pissed off at him, especially after he spent all those hours on the phone with Peppy. He wasn't ready yet to have this conversation—especially not when Wolf had him cornered like this. Damn it all. The frustration brought an angry edge to his voice. "It's not what you think." The words sounded about as stupid as Fox feared they would.

"You did good, Panther. Leave us."

Panther stood tall now, shoulders relaxed. "You sure?"

"Go."

"Yes, boss."

Panther pushed past Fox, and as he did so, he snarled and snapped his jaws. Fox growled back and met Panther's glare while he boarded his ship. The low droning hum of Wolfen engines filled the hangar, and Fox watched the black-and-red silhouette roll down the hangar until the bay door sealed behind it.

"Stand."

Fox waited a good few seconds, just to spite the man, but he was rewarded with a jab to the top of his skull and a louder, firmer, " _Stand_." Fox found himself rising to his feet quickly. He turned to face his rival, baring his teeth. He was face-to-face with Wolf's blaster.

This is how he always imagined he'd meet Wolf, if they ever did meet in person: with an angry stare from across a primed blaster.

"I've locked down your ship," Wolf said. "So don't even think of running for it. You're going to follow me, and we're going to have a nice chat. Got it?"

Fox nodded, and Wolf lowered his blaster.


	5. Cards on the Table

This is a chapter that a lot of people have been waiting for.

Since apparently it's cool to do it these days, I'll let you peer into my head a little bit:

I want to make it pretty clear that this is a story about relationships, not about space pirates or bounty hunters. People praise 'pairing stories' that aren't entirely about the pairing, and that doesn't make sense to me because why would you read a murder-mystery if you didn't want to read a murder-mystery, for instance? I think what people mean is that stories which are entirely fluff or have no external sources of tension tend to not be very interesting, and I agree. This will not be such a story. It happens that the external tensors are related to being a mercenary and saving the world, because that's what Star Fox is all about, but this is a story about relationships at its core.

I'm not interested in discussing the micro-decisions I've made in writing the story here, as I believe that if the reader needs to peer inside my head to understand my composition, I have failed as an author. But you can trust that I scrutinize every damn word I put on the page, and that I could probably write several well-reasoned paragraphs about every decision I've made along the way whether it worked or not, but none of that really matters if I don't deliver a story that lives and breathes and _sings_. I hope that it does; I want to make you _feel_ , and anything else is just a means to that end.

It's nice to have other pairs of eyes, if only because your brain makes finding typos in something you wrote recently very damn difficult no matter how much of a stickler for detail you are (which is a constant point of frustration for me). So, thanks extend to tldrOtter and Atlas - Bryyo for lending a hand with all that, and for being remarkably patient: I tend to get caught up in my own little world of magnetic monopoles and boyfriends and am pretty bad about returning the favors people give me, and I know it. So, my thanks to you guys. I hope to repay your investment.

Reviews or comments are always greatly appreciated!

* * *

Wolf sat across from him, drumming his clawtips on the table. It was a dark, claustrophobic room, rattled by the pounding bass from the club music playing in the front of the bar. Wolf's blaster rested lazily in his hand, a constant reminder of the imminent force, although, gauging from the numerous scores running across the wooden surface of the table, his claws were a danger enough on their own.

"I've got a shipment arriving an hour from now, so let's make this fast. Talk."

For all the force Wolf's voice held, Fox knew they weren't too different. They met eyes. Neither of them trusted the other. Neither of them wanted to break first. Neither of them wanted to tip their hand.

Wolf wanted to know why Fox was looking for him. He wanted to know why Fox was snooping around in his turf after being told off. Fox didn't like being bossed around and he did _not_ want Wolf pissed off at him, especially when he'd busted his ass trying to put them on equal footing. He couldn't win as long as Wolf saw him as an enemy, and if he messed up here, that whole talk with Peppy would have been for naught.

Fox didn't answer, and Wolf spoke first. "You were looking for me. Why?"

"I have my reasons."

"You think I'm the bad guy."

"You _are_ a bad guy, but not the one I'm after."

"Then why did you come here?"

"Believe it or not, you aren't the only outlaw in these parts." The annoyed flick of Wolf's ears was so satisfying. "Finding Panther? Happy coincidence, and I couldn't resist. It's not like I have any other way of reaching you."

"Than by threatening my teammate? Cute, Fox. Real cute. To be honest, I didn't know you had the balls to do it once, let alone twice."

"Really? I've been the front line in two wars, Wolf." Fox didn't bother to hide the venom in his voice, and he just couldn't resist twisting the knife. "Maybe you don't remember, but I'm sure your old Wolfens do."

Wolf's lips pulled back, showing fang. Oh, he'd struck a nerve. "I'll ask again. Why were you looking for me?"

"Why did you set a trap for me?" Fox sat up straight and leaned over the table, spurring a weary creak from the old wooden chair. "Panther wasn't there when I arrived. You planted him there, didn't you?"

Wolf's complete lack of an immediate reaction was a dead giveaway that he was trying way too hard not to let the question get to him. "I'm the one asking the questions, here."

"So that's a yes? Someone tipped you off? You told your boys to be on the lookout for a white fox?"

Wolf flashed his teeth, and his claws gouged another set of gashes into the tabletop. The hand clutching his blaster wagged the tip of its bayonet towards Fox's nose. "You think you're so clever, don't you?"

"I _know_ I'm clever."

"Tell me how you plan on getting off this station without answering my question, clever-boy _._ You wanted to find me? I'm here." He lowered his blaster and snarled. " _Talk_. Why did you come back to this damn bar?"

The harsh bark drew a wince from Fox, but he had to remind himself that Wolf could at any point lift the gun, level it at Fox's snout, and _force_ him to talk. Wolf could reach across the table and rend the skin off Fox's face, or pin Fox and choke him to within an inch of his life—but he didn't, and that was telling, even if the tension in the room only continued to swell. There was something Wolf valued more than Fox's information, or Wolf would be making more than idle threats.

Fox was getting real tired of Wolf thinking everything was about _him._

"Not like this." Fox sat up straight in his chair and leaned as far over as he could. Some invisible force kept him from looking away from Wolf's gruff mug even for a fraction of a second. "Lose the damn gun. I'm not one of your goons you can intimidate into talking. I'm not afraid of you."

Wolf leaned forward, and the tip of his nose twitched in an exaggerated inhalation. "But you are. I can smell it." His hand slid forward on the table, claws scraping against its surface with that chilling nails-on-chalkboard sound. "Why. Were. You. Here?"

The more he gloated and boasted, the more his grip on that blaster slacked. On some level, the other man was getting off on this: on intimidating Fox and pushing him around, something he couldn't do nearly so easily in the skies. Moreover, Wolf was getting cocky, reveling just a bit too much in having the great Fox McCloud at his mercy—because if there was one thing to be said about Fox, it was that he thrived on pressure. He'd been scared flying through Andross's booby traps, and he'd been scared lining up that final shot on the Aparoid queen. And that had never stopped him.

His head tilted and eyes narrowed. Wolf watched him, mirroring. And then Fox pounced.

Fox's claws dug into Wolf's wrist; his rival's eye opened wide, and the jolt of pain was enough to weaken his grip just enough for Fox to pry the blaster from Wolf's clutches with his other hand. In less than a second, Wolf was staring down the barrel of his own gun, the tip of its attached blade merely inches from his nose.

Maybe Wolf wasn't so different than all the other tough-acting mercenaries in that bar; if he didn't try so damn hard to _look_ dangerous, he wouldn't open himself up to such a move.

"I'm sick of this. I'm not your enemy, so how about stop fucking treating me like one. Do you think I'm after your bounty? If that's what I wanted, I could take it right now. But that isn't it, is it?" Wolf's teeth were bared, and a deep growl came from his chest that made Fox's stomach leap. Fox had no interest in pulling the trigger, but if he had to, he would—if only to make a point. Wolf kept staring down the barrel, as if daring Fox to do something with it.

Fox tried to ignore the tremor in his hands that jostled the blaster around so much he could barely aim it.

His finger tightened on the trigger, and he pushed the weapon forward, letting the blade touch Wolf's nose. Wolf didn't flinch away; even when the tip pressed firmly enough to sting, he didn't move as much as a millimeter back.

It felt so damn good to be the one in control, after all the times Wolf had held his life on a thread. Fox leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Who's scared now?"

The words made Wolf snarl. He still looked as imposing as ever; he'd yet to back down, and that lone eye looked defiantly forward. "Go on, Fox. Pull it."

This wasn't about him pulling the trigger: it was about making a point, and if he let Wolf's bluff win here, then he'd lost. He wasn't going to pull the trigger, but that didn't mean he had to back down.

Fox eased the gun forward, just enough to make the tip of its blade dig in to the flesh of Wolf's nose. He hadn't broken the leathery skin yet, but soon would, if Fox kept increasing the pressure. Eyes locked as the seconds rolled by and the tip of the blade gradually dug in just a little bit deeper, until with an almost inaudible exhale, Wolf's head finally pulled back, breaking the contact before the blade could puncture his flesh. It was barely a centimeter, but that was enough: he'd given in. He'd lost this little game of chicken.

Oddly enough, Wolf didn't look shaken. Not even in the slightest. Quite the opposite, he looked almost energized: back straight, ears upright.

"I don't trust you," Fox said. "But I'm not going to kill you, and I'm not out to get you. You're lucky I like you." He almost spat the words, in a blatant mockery of how Wolf had once said the same damn thing to him with a claw against his jugular. Fox pulled his gun-arm back, just a couple of inches. He'd made his point, and now—

Wolf swiped at his wrist. Fingers closed around it, and Wolf knew just the angle to twist to make it hurt. Wolf didn't even need to pry the blaster from his fingers; the pain was so overwhelming that it just dropped from Fox's hand with a loud clang against the table. Fox's disarming had been faster, but Wolf's more efficient and more brutal, no doubt a practiced move, maybe even one that'd taken lives.

"Don't get cocky, runt," Wolf said. Fox grit his teeth and tried not to whimper, but it fucking _hurt_. Just a little bit harder and it felt like Wolf would break his damn arm. "You get the jump on me once, it don't mean you won. _"_

Wolf's free hand grabbed hold of the gun and removed it from the table, clipping it back at his side. Only then did Wolf release his grip. Fox pulled his own arm back, grasping at the disheveled fur where Wolf's fingers had squeezed. It sill felt so damn weird to see white instead of orange.

At this point, Fox didn't know what to think. Wolf was a thug and a ruffian, and slinging blasters and insults and threats was likely just part of customary operation, here. At least Fox had shown that he wasn't going to let Wolf push him around, verbally _or_ physically.

"Are you satisfied?" Fox said.

Once more, Wolf's fingers drummed against the tabletop. He was studying Fox again, but this time, he seemed somehow more interested. "I had you within twenty minutes of your arrival, but I wanted to see if you'd go for Panther again."

Fox paused a moment to breathe. Finally, some transparency. "So we'd be having this chat regardless of if I'd went for Panther or not. Did I disappoint you?"

Wolf shook his head. "You're resourceful. You saw an opportunity and you took it. I respect that." Wolf chuckled, and his next words dripped with condescension. "We're more alike than you think, you know."

 _We're nothing alike_. Fox seethed. "I'll bet it felt good, pressing your blaster to my neck after all those times I blew your ass out of the sky."

"Damn right it did." No hesitation. "Apparently not as good as it did for you when you pulled the trigger ten years back, because you're still jerking yourself off about it."

"You've still got a grudge over that after all—"

Wolf leaned forward and snarled. "You're always sticking your nose where it doesn't—"

" _Maybe_ if you stopped breaking _every_ goddamn law—"

"And you still won't fucking tell me why you—"

"You aren't my damn partner, so why the hell would I—"

"You're on _my fucking_ _turf,_ so—"

"You're so damn pissed that you can't just bully me around like—"

Wolf's fist slammed down on the table. They were talking over each other, teeth bared, not quite shouting but not _listening_ , either. If not for the table between them, Fox was almost certain Wolf would have slammed him up against the wall by now, but at last, that deafening thump brought a heated silence. Wolf sat still, fuming and glaring daggers.

"You're insufferable, Wolf."

"And yet you sought me out." Wolf reached down into his pocket. "If I'm so insufferable..." He tossed something at Fox. Quick reflexes kicked in and he caught it before he even knew what it was: a card. "Leave. I'm sick of this shit."

Fox inspected the thing. Some kind of key card. _Supposedly_ , the key to the lock on his ship.

Wolf spoke that like a challenge, and Fox rose, skirting his chair back with an angry squeak against the floor that even made Wolf's ears fold down. Fox headed towards the door: anger poured into his footsteps, which were far too loud and forced.

He paused at the door. Something didn't feel right. Slowly, he turned: Wolf was looking right at him. He was clearly expecting something, and Fox couldn't hold the stare for long.

"How do I know this is the right key?"

"You don't really believe I would give you a dud."

"I wouldn't put it past you."

"That was a _statement_ , not a question. You don't believe it. If I wanted to dupe you, I would have done it while you were in my base, and you know it."

Fox was silent. He put a hand on the control of the sliding door, but he didn't open it. With a weary sigh, he took a step away, and leaned up against the wall beside it, glaring at Wolf with his arms crossed. Wolf _knew_ he'd been looking for him, and dammit, this was the right move to make. As much as Fox didn't want to yield, he also didn't walk out and leave him like this right at the end of their shouting match. It didn't feel right.

Wolf was fucking with him and it was working. His rival grinned. "I told you to scram, but you come back looking for me. You say I'm infuriating, but you don't leave. Bit indecisive, aren't you? How about you open your mouth and tell me what you want from me, pup."

"Are you done?" Fox snapped. The condescension in this man was maddening. "And can you _stop_ calling me that?"

"Grow up and I'll call you something else. You're like a lost little puppy who just happens to know his way around a fighter. "

"Can you shut the hell up?" The way that lone eye widened gave Fox some sick satisfaction. "If it'll make you quiet down, fine, I'll tell you why I was looking for you. I didn't want to do it when you were waving a gun or yelling at me, but _fuck_ it, we're never getting anywhere, are we?" He sighed and forced himself to calm down. "The bounty on your head? I talked to Peppy."

Wolf 's mouth opened like he'd been preparing to fire off whatever was next in his endless tirade, but instead, he froze, still as a statue. "Yes?"

Fox took a moment to savor the radical shift in Wolf's tone. "He says... he says he's working on it. No promises, but we're pretty sure in a couple of weeks we'll be able to nullify it." It was so hard to keep staring Wolf down, but he didn't want to be the first to look away. "It was kind of silly, anyway. They didn't have the money to pay it off. None of the charges are being dropped, but... it's a start."

Wolf was quiet for a while, probably debating whether or not he could trust Fox's word. Fox thought about offering to show him the message, but Wolf looked up, met his eye, and said, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

It was as if the threads of tension dancing between them had been fed some much-needed slack. Not removed, but just for a moment, relaxed, and that coaxed a weary sigh of relief from Fox's lips. He'd surprised Wolf; that much was clear. The endless barrage had ceased, and now Wolf was looking off, like he was mulling things over.

Finally, Wolf turned back to look at Fox. "I was harsh, the last time we spoke."

Fox raised a brow, and took a moment to try in vain to process Wolf's tone. "And?"

"And I want to be very clear, I'm not apologizing for that. I meant every word, and you _deserved_ it."

"Fine. You're right. But for the record, you don't know nearly as much about me as you think you do."

"I know enough that I'll never forgive you for abandoning me, just like you'll never forgive me for siding with Andross. Consider us even. But don't think for a second that means I won't keep giving you shit."

And that shouldn't have been the end of it, because Wolf was still pissed off at him, but Fox couldn't argue any more after those last words: _Consider us even_. Like it or not, that was all he needed, and it felt like a huge weight had lifted off his chest. After half an hour of panic and guesswork and pain, finally he had some solidarity.

He probably had as much closure from this whole conversation as he could ever hope to get, but still, if he walked out the door now he'd probably never see Wolf again, and that didn't feel right, especially since Wolf was clearly connected to whatever was going on in Fichina.

So his eyes turned back to Wolf, who was still sitting there, staring down Fox. "You say we're even? Prove it. Work with me." Wolf kept staring, like he was waiting for an explanation. "We both benefit. We'll crush anyone in the skies, we can keep each other sharp, and... look, let's be honest: we don't trust each other. If we keep close, work on the same thing, then that's one less thing to worry about." He paused. "And since you love giving me hell so much, this would sure give you plenty of chances."

"That's a load of shit." He sighed. "But you're in luck, because I happen to think we'd make a decent team, just this once."

"Let me guess: for reasons you're not going to tell me."

Wolf stood and stretched himself out. It struck Fox just how burly his rival was: big enough to be intimidating and yet not crossing the fine line between big and comically big. He found himself breathing through his mouth, once Wolf came in close and leaned against the wall. There was something about Wolf's scent that was too distracting; it made him feel like prey, and reminded him that Wolf was less than a second way from having him doubled over again at his mercy.

Now that Wolf was closer, his voice was softer, and for the first time, he spoke calmly. "I know a lot more than I let on to your white alter-ego. But if we're going to work together, we have to trust each other."

Fox squinted. "What do you know?" Wolf was uncomfortably close, and Fox sidled back a step. "I can trust you enough to work with you. You have a reputation, and you've had plenty of chances to kill me and you haven't, and I know you can be a powerful ally."

"Not good enough." Wolf leaned back in; personal space wasn't his strong point, it seemed. "Now's your chance. You've got any hang-ups about me? Anything you _need_ to know? Clear it up now."

Fox thought for a while. Was Wolf expecting him to ask about James? About Sargasso? He shook his head. "I don't want to play your games. Just tell me what you know, Wolf."

"Really? _Really?_ You're so afraid of what you think I'd say that you'd rather be ignorant? You must think so poorly of me. It's no wonder it was so easy for you to ditch me eight months ago."

That argumentative tone was back and Fox's fur was standing up again. "You still got a stick up your ass about that? I mean, I heard you liked taking it under the tail, but—"

He was interrupted by a rude bark of laughter from the older male. "Oh, you know _so_ much about me, don't you, Fox? From what? Rumors? You know, if I believed everything the tabloids said about you, I'd think you were some pushover rotting in a conference room."

"That doesn't..." He looked away. "Okay, I see your point."

"Well?" He didn't need to look at Wolf to know the man was staring at him and wouldn't look away until he had an answer.

"Okay, fine." There was so much Fox didn't know about Wolf, but so much of that fell into the category of things he didn't want to know. But Wolf expected _something_ , and Fox had to at least make an effort, or once more risk pissing him off. That expectant purple eye didn't look away. Fox needed to be on Wolf's side; he needed Wolf's information to do his mission. "Those... you said you had a shipment waiting for you back home? What's in it?"

"Food."

Somehow that wasn't the answer Fox had been expecting.

"Food?"

"Yes. _Food_." Fox must have had a dumb look on his face, because Wolf smirk persisted. "So my boys don't starve?"

"Food." Fox blinked.

"You know, put it in your mouth so you grow big and strong? Although, judging from your looks—"

Fox held up a hand. "Alright, alright, I get it. Stop being an ass." He felt humiliated, and judging from Wolf's amused smirk, he was having a blast.

"What were you expecting, drugs?" His silence gave that one away. "That's it, isn't it? You think I'm a drug dealer? Holy shit."

Fox rubbed a hand at his tired eyes, and took a few small, pacing steps around the room. His eyes followed the patterns of grout and tile on the floor, just to have something else to focus on than Wolf's cocky grin right in front of him.

"Fox. I'm a _pilot_."

"You're an _outlaw_. You have an _empire_."

"You want my professional opinion, as an outlaw?" His deep voice was steadfast and calm. "Drugs are messy. Addicts are unpredictable. It's a sloppy, unreliable way to make money."

Fox turned and sat his rump down on the table. "So, how do you get by, then? You've got all this territory. All these men. All these weapons."

Wolf's teeth gleamed in the light. Again, he was closing the distance between them. "Out here, there's no government to cry to when shit goes wrong. In Meteo, the most twisted, deceitful fuck comes out on top, not the best pilot or fighter." By this point, his snout was inches from Fox's. He seemed to get off on making Fox uncomfortable. "You want that kind of environment, you gotta make it yourself."

It sounded like a whole lot of bombast to Fox. Good-intentioned, but bombast nonetheless—like something Andross might say.

"Don't believe me, do ya?" He shrugged, and pulled back. "I own a lot of joints out here. That bar you go to—that's how I knew you were there. A lot of these stations. People trust them. They know I don't take shit in my territory. They know they won't get stabbed in the back."

"And the merchandise? I can't imagine all that's legal."

Wolf shrugged. "So what if all the export taxes on the booze don't come in and line the pockets of those scumbags in the council? I can live with that."

"So you're a smuggler."

"Call me what you want." He grunted. "It's not like I could get any of this shit legally, anyway. You know my record. Being _alive_ is a crime. What am I supposed to do, roll over and die? Turn myself in? If I had, you would've died on Corneria when the Aparoids hit. _Everyone_ would have."

Fox took a moment to take all that in. He wasn't sure if he could believe Wolf on every count, but at the same time, he seemed genuine enough, if only because he was so generally abrasive that it was hard to imagine Wolf pulling any punches.

But Wolf had a point. Lylat owed it all to both of them; if either of the two men standing in this room hadn't been around, every living creature would now be dead.

"How very lupine of you. It's like you went and pissed a circle around your turf, and now you just sit here growling at anyone who comes near."

He meant it to be another jab like the dozens they'd already exchanged, but apparently, Wolf found it funny. It started out low—just a chuckle—and built up. It was oddly pleasing, to hear Wolf genuinely laugh. Fox found himself grinning, too. Truth told, it was the first time he'd had a real laugh in probably a whole week or two. The only contact he'd had was with Valen and his gang of misfits at the bar, after all, and all the feeling there had been manufactured.

"So."

Wolf's hand came down on his shoulder. It was an innocent, brotherly gesture—perhaps even fatherly, if one considered the age differential. Nine years. This man was nine years his elder. Wolf's hand was expectedly heavy and unexpectedly warm, and despite the motion's innocence, Fox couldn't help recalling what Panther and Valen had said about his rival, and how raucously Wolf had reacted when he brought it up. Still, the contact didn't unnerve him.

"You want to work? Let's work. I'll get us some coffee, then we talk about the ships?"

It felt like he hadn't said enough, like there were things Wolf should be asking about. Where was Fox's team? What was the message he'd sent to Peppy? What was he doing here chasing down ships alone, anyway? Didn't he have a grudge? Some of those were hard things to talk about, and others he just didn't have a good answer to. Part of him was suspicious that Wolf didn't pry further. The rest of him was immensely grateful.

Fox nodded. "Let's."

* * *

The coffee, as expected, tasted like shit, but it kept his eyes open if only through its searing heat. They'd pushed their chairs over to the same side of the small table, and together they sat, side by side. Fox had his tablet out, placed down right beside Wolf's older-looking one.

Wolf cleared his throat. "The first thing you need to know is that the governor of Fichina paid us to protect those ships. They have money, but they're running out of resources. They're starving, and they can't farm with the climate out of whack. Corneria can't commit more troops, and they're getting desperate."

Fox mulled that over. He was a bit insulted that he hadn't gotten the offer before Star Wolf, but it was certainly understandable given all his activism lately. He really had been out of the game, and he supposed asking Star Wolf made some sense, given the flight path. "Got it. There's more?"

"The second thing is that Fichinan relief ships aren't the only thing being attacked. I've had a few of mine hit, too. It's been worse since we showed at the last Fichina ship. One of my bases took a hit last week. And the third... they've got outrageous tech. Their lasers went right through our shields. Panther lost a wing, and Leon's ship was fried. Their numbers weren't too high and they weren't terribly skilled, but we're running a mash-up of tech that's a decade old in our ships, and we couldn't fight that. I had to pull my men out, and I've _never_ done that before."

That was odd. Fox hadn't heard of any advances in aerial blaster tech lately. Shields hadn't evolved enough in the last decade for Wolf's to be outdated in any meaningful sense save capacity. Slippy should know about any new developments, but then, he hadn't been in contact with the toad as regularly as he normally was. "I'll ask Slippy about that and see if he has anything to say." He made a note of that in his tablet.

Wolf nudged his side. "How about you? I take it there was a reason you were at that bar again."

"Was it so hard to ask nicely?" Wolf rolled his eyes, and Fox paused to consider the irony of him opening his mouth to report to Wolf O'Donnell. "I have a lead, yes. A fox, name of Valen. We've talked a few times, and earlier today, he dropped some hints that he might be on the next ship raid. I'm thinking maybe he'd be our ticket in."

"Yeah? What were you thinking?"

"I say we bug him. See who he's talking to."

Wolf raised a brow. "Well, well. Aren't you crafty? Here I thought you were pissed over _my_ criminal record."

Fox huffed. "It's not criminal if..."

He trailed off because he didn't know how to finish that sentence, and Wolf must have picked up on it, because he grinned and laughed. "If what?"

"...if I'm working for Corneria, under Peppy's orders."

"Right, right. Nothing _you_ do is criminal, of course. Some of us don't have that freedom." He grunted. "When do you see him, the fox?"

Fox didn't rise to Wolf's bait. "Next Saturday."

Wolf's ears fanned forward and he stared down at his tablet. He was silent for a while, thinking. Fox watched him out the corner of his eye. He had this slight squint, and Fox could see slight motions around the thin line of his mouth. Almost like he was thinking about saying something, or was mouthing something quietly to himself.

"Okay. So, here's what we'll do." He said it with finality and command that made Fox sit up straighter in his chair. "Saturday, you'll put on your makeup. You'll chat him up at the bar. Distract him. I don't need you to bug him; I'll bug his _ship_. I'm going to need time to set up, but I can hide it well enough that it'll be running the whole time during the window where the ship might get hit. Then we'll—why are you laughing?"

Hearing Wolf say it just made him laugh harder. Was this what it felt like when he barked orders at his teammates? Hell.

"What's so damn funny?" He sucked his teeth. "Did I fuck something up?" Wolf glanced back down at his tablet and tapped it a few times, like he was searching for an error.

"It's... it's nothing, Wolf. No, no. That sounds good." He cleared his throat. "So, then what? I guess we'll decide that later, after we know more."

His expression was unchanged. "Yes. After you talk to the toad, and after we see what our birdie tells us. But I still don't get what's so damn funny."

"No, I told you, your plan is good. It's just..." Fox reclined a bit in his chair. "You work a bit different than how I pictured you."

"I run one of the best damn teams in the galaxy. I know how to get shit done."

Fox closed his eyes for a moment, and a curious thought struck him. "Where's your team, anyway? Why aren't they here? They don't know about me, do they?"

"We don't need them to gather intel. They'll be here if we need muscle, but I'm working with _you_ on this mission."

That seemed so bizarre, and he totally dodged Fox's last question, but he didn't have any time to dwell on it or inquire further, because Wolf leaned over, staring down at Fox's own tablet, then grinned up at his old rival. "Oh, there's a section on here about me, is there?"

Fox reached for his tablet. "Hey, that's not for y— _hey!"_

Wolf held it up to his snout and squinted. "Damn. You sure do think highly of me, don't you, Fox?" He tried to remember the things he'd written about Wolf in there: _territorial. Aggressive. Dangerous. Gay?_

Fox swatted up at his tablet a few times, trying to reclaim it. It took him giving up and training a glare on Wolf's snout before his rival finally returned it to him. As he did it, the older man stood.

"Well, then. We've got a plan. We've got contact info. Looks like we're all set, yeah? Next Saturday."

Fox rose with him, and again, he had to look up to meet Wolf's eyes. "Yeah. We're all set."

"But in the meantime." Wolf leaned down and poked a finger against Fox's chest. Fox's spine prickled. "I can't trust you in the sky right now, Fox. All that time in Corneria sitting on your ass couldn't have been good for your trigger finger." Wolf flashed his teeth. "Flight sims. My base, tomorrow, high noon. Unless you're _scared_."

Simduels with Falco had always been the highlight of long transits on the old Great Fox, back when it took several standard Corneria days to travel any meaningful distance. Wolf was a damn good pilot, and he wouldn't let the challenge in Wolf's voice go unanswered. Hell, he wanted to fly again.

"You're on."

Wolf clapped him on the shoulder again. "Let's get out of here. Go out the back, and give it ten minutes so we aren't seen together. Oh, and, Fox?"

Fox met his rival's eye. It was getting easier to do—no longer was it quite so disconcerting, staring at just one purple orb. "Yeah?"

"You look a lot better in your natural color." Fox wasn't even sure what to say to that, and he didn't have time to think of a sarcastic response, because Wolf turned then. "Catch you tomorrow."

And with that, he was off. He could hear the firm thuds from Wolf's heavy boots as he made his way out. Fox didn't sit down until they'd faded away.

...there was this nagging feeling that Wolf was hitting on him. Commenting about his fur, deliberately making contact (twice), and inviting him the next day to flight sims. He was sure that, to some gang somewhere in Meteo, that was the merc pilot version of going on a date.

And he didn't care. Not one bit, and that was perhaps more striking to him than Wolf's behavior was, because he had to admit that, even if he had no damn clue what was going on in Wolf's head, the prospect of this mission still flashed him with tantalizing kindlings of ambition and purpose. Wolf wasn't nice, and never pleasant—he'd never look at Wolf and call him either of those things without qualification. But he was exciting, at least in the sense that the prospect of busting his ass in a simduel against this incredibly capable pilot certainly seemed much more interesting than duking it out against academy trainees or bots.

Wolf wasn't Star Fox. He wasn't Falco, Peppy, or Slippy, but ill company won out over none at all. And that was really all it came down to, wasn't it?


	6. Addiction

Many thanks to those who've kept with me all this time, and especially to my wonderful reviewers. Many special thanks to Nail for all his thoughts!

As always: I love feedback. If you like (or hate) what you're reading, leave me a review. It might be a little bit before I can get back to them this time: currently I'm holed up in a small town in South America for a meeting, and using the WiFi tends to be an exercise in frustration unless you luck out.

I hope you enjoy this chapter! This was very fun to write.

* * *

Dogfighting in Meteo always sucked ass. Fox loved it.

The 'sky' was a sea of gray-brown asteroids and his movements were fluid and seamless, darting around rock after rock. Some were as small as a meter; others were as large as a kilometer. No pilot who'd spent more than a month in the sky would ever _hit_ one of the rocks; no, that wasn't the problem.

The problem was that the rocks constrained you. You had to move this way here, this way there. Every move had to be planned in advance, and the good pilots could use the rocks to their advantage.

A plasma bolt grazed his wing and his shields monitor flashed red. _Like that_. Wolf had hidden behind an asteroid, used it to block Fox's sensors, and lined up a damn good shot. His shield could take about three hits and needed a good five minutes to recharge, so even though he suffered no damage from the bolt, it was still a considerable victory.

He pulled a quick one-eighty, but a huge mass of asteroids blocked his line of sight to Wolf. Fox was fighting blind. Just a couple of shots more like that, and...

 _Oh, shit_.

He turned again and kicked on the boost when he saw the green ball tracking him. Wolf had prepped a lock on him from his little hidey-hole, and now it was only a matter of time before the blazing ball caught up. Fox gripped the stick firmly, but before he could do anything, his radar flashed and he had no choice but to slam on the boost, the thrill of adrenaline ringing out in his chest.

Wolf had flown out from behind one of the asteroids behind him, afterburners blazing, and Fox could picture the bloodthirsty snarl on his rival's face when bolts of blue plasma fired Fox's way, raining down from above. It was like a scene straight out of a nightmare, one Fox had seen before many times in the middle of the night.

What Wolf did was a ruthless combination attack. If Fox flew in a straight line, he'd be easy pickings for Wolf's blasters. On the other hand, if he dodged all the blaster shots, the homing one would catch up. Fox grit his teeth, adrenaline surging. By now he could feel his pads sweating, but he didn't break under the pressure: with one hand on the booster and one on the rudder, he worked himself into a rhythm, alternating between rolling, swerving, and boosting with as close to zero downtime as he could manage.

A lesser pilot would have already been fried. Wolf was smart—he'd never get a free lock on Fox like that without using the asteroids as cover—but Fox was just so _good_ that it didn't matter. Shot after shot he dodged and deflected, and he could feel himself grinning despite the sweat and aching fingers from gripping the damn stick too hard. He _loved_ the rush of pushing himself to the absolute limit, and he could only imagine Wolf's frustration when such a good move didn't so much as land a single shot on Fox. It'd only be a matter of time until the charged shot fizzled, and if Wolf stopped his suppressing fire for long enough to charge another one, Fox would be able to turn and land fire of his own. Plus, those plasma guns had to be close to overheating by now.

Then Fox saw the gigantic boulder lumbering into view, right in his path.

He faltered for just long enough for one of Wolf's plasma shots to slam into his fuselage. Fortunately, the shield absorbed most of the impact, but tremors still shook his ship. _Shields at one third_. _Two more hits and you're toast._ Fox managed by pure necessity to work himself back into the evasive rhythm, while the boulder crept ever closer.

Wolf was smarter than he'd thought. He wasn't _just_ forcing Fox on the defensive; he'd been shepherding him with those blaster shots, forcing him to dodge towards that enormous asteroid's path. It was so hard to _think_ , when he had to constantly twist and turn to avoid fire. Normally, he'd make a U-turn and retaliate, but the charged shot would hit him if he did.

His eyes glanced at his radar to note Wolf's position. Then he turned his ship sharply to the side and slammed on the boost as hard as he could.

If he'd done it perfectly, the charged shot would have collided with the asteroid, and the resulting explosion would obscure Fox enough to let him boost away and reset the fight. But under the pressure of Wolf's fire, it was nearly impossible to execute that flawlessly.

The green plasma ball swerved, just barely grazed the asteroid, and soon was hot on his tail again. Still, Fox smirked. He hadn't gotten rid of it, but now the ball was directly between him and Wolf. Wolf had to stop firing, lest he fire into his own track-shot and destroy it.

If he were Wolf, he'd be charging another right now. By this point, Fox would be surprised if Wolf's plasma guns weren't screaming for rest and recovery. Now was his chance.

He boosted away, that same green ball still tailing him. Fox swerved at the last second before the next lock-on fired, trying to control the angle of attack. Eyes glanced down to his radar, and he smiled.

Perfect.

Both balls were coming at him from opposite sides. He guessed the midpoint between them and boosted in the orthogonal direction. If Fox were Wolf, he'd—

Right on cue, a little blue dot popped up on his radar. A bomb, designed to keep him from retaliating, no doubt. A smart move, but bombs were risky, and Fox was bold.

As the twin homing bolts neared, Fox jerked the stick down as hard as he could, and his ship bucked upwards in a fast one-eighty. Both green balls slammed into one another and dissipated in an explosion of plasma that rocked his ship. Any sane person would have boosted the other way to avoid Wolf's bomb, but Fox knew what he had to do: he slammed down on the boost, and before the bomb was able to explode, he punched on his barrier. Power diverted from boost, engines, and weapons to reinforce his shield. His windshield shimmered blue, and Wolf's bomb collided with Fox's ship... just to get deflected away, still intact.

The moment the bomb deflected, Fox dropped the barrier and boosted away. Moments later, the bomb detonated; a blue blaze engulfed him, the incredible intensity of which made Fox's eyes nearly clench shut. The heat melted his shields, and every alarm in the handbook screamed. All he could see from his squinting eyes was searing blue, so bright that he couldn't make out a single damn control on his ship. All he had was muscle memory, but that was all he needed.

Despite his ship's protests, he darted in blindly towards Wolf's former position, and the moment the cloud of blue plasma dissipated enough for him to make out his rival, he fired. The bomb put out so much heat and energy that there's no way any sort of sensor could have pinpointed Fox's position, or even see his shots coming. And as far as Wolf was concerned, Fox's ship ought to have been destroyed in that blast.

The element of surprise worked in his favor: three shots scored hits in the confusion before Wolf could dodge, but that wasn't enough to penetrate shields. Once Wolf knew where he was, his rival was quick to boost away, but Fox was hot on his tail. The red blaze of Wolf's booster made his ship hard to make out; again, Fox was reduced to squinting and gritting his teeth.

He dumped as many shots as he could. This close, Wolf couldn't boost to dodge; he could only roll and hope for the momentum of his shielded wingtips to deflect every shot. Ten shots Fox fired before one finally hit the mark. Wolf's wing blazed-plasma blasters were hot enough to vaporize protective coatings even in vacuum-and Fox boosted out of the pursuit to keep the ensuing black smoke from blinding him. The two of them flew away from each other, both seeking downtime to let shields recharge and blasters cool.

 _Damn._

It'd been just one exchange, and it'd only lasted a couple of minutes, but this was already the most intense duel he'd had in a long time. The memories went back ten years, and he could feel the fire in his chest now just as then, the pinpricks of excitement and anxiety alike dancing down his body. He'd done it. He'd fucking done it. He'd taken that near perfect setup from Wolf, flew out of his mind, and deflected it right back at him. And it felt _so_ good.

This—this was what Wolf's scent reminded him of. It's why it fired him up when Wolf got in his face, and it's why Wolf made his blood boil. His rival was the only person alive who gave him this kind of addictive thrill in the sky, who put him this much on edge. It was like Wolf had given him that precious first fix after an interminable dry spell and yanked him out of a withdrawal he hadn't even been aware of.

This was what Fox McCloud lived for.

Wolf's holographic mug appeared in front of him, and Fox's eyes locked on. His rival looked about as exerted as Fox felt; he had that same intense stare like he had when Fox had jammed the bayonet up against his nose. "What the hell was _that?_ Boosting _into_ a bomb?"

Fox was bubbling with a confidence he hadn't felt in far too long. They both knew if Wolf had landed a single shot while Fox's shields were completely fried, it would have been over: it was such a bold, over-the-top move when compared to Wolf's clever, calculated trap. "Me beating you."

Wolf flashed his teeth. "You haven't won yet. I'm going to skin you alive, pup, wing or no wing."

"I'd like to see you try."

With that, the link terminated, and Fox twisted into a U-turn, boosting back towards his rival. He saw the gleaming red of the Wolfen before the chime on his radar. Fox swerved to the side, charging a shot—and the duel continued.

Wolf was good. No. Falco was good. Wolf was fantastic. Watching Wolf soar through virtual space was a hell of a sight, and every rock in the sky felt so much more imposing when he knew that, for once, he was flying against someone who really understood how to abuse them. Fox might have won the first skirmish, but the fight was far from over.

There was a certain arrogance to the way Wolf flew. Most pilots tried to confuse and disrupt, attempting jerky, flashy maneuvers in attempt to throw off their enemy. Falco, for instance, used to somersault, turn, and zip unpredictably across the sky, but Wolf could do with a single second of a well-timed brake what would take his old partner ten seconds of aerial acrobatics to execute. It didn't seem to matter if Wolf was predictable, because even if you see the perfect move coming, there's nothing you can do to stop it. And though Wolf might have been controlled and patient on defense, the moment Fox made a mistake Wolf was nothing but aggressive and ruthless. Fox could not allow himself to be sloppy.

If nothing else, Wolf had reaffirmed Fox's respect.

Ten minutes later, Fox was gritting his teeth. His ship was too damaged to hold up another hit, and he wagered Wolf's was, too, gauging from the smoldering ruin that used to be his right wing. Most simduels lasted less than five minutes, but this had gone on for fifteen long, torturous ones. Fox cut a somersault, diving towards Wolf. A quick roll deflected two of the three shots that Wolf sent towards him. He dove out of the way, his targeting system still getting a lock on Wolf.

Wolf knew if he tried charging a lock-on now, he would lose to Fox's before he could get it off. All he could do was fire madly and hope to connect a finishing shot before Fox got his homing shot off.

Eyeing the shower of plasma bolts firing his way, Fox wagered he could hold up through just three more shots, and he knew Wolf's gun was soon to overheat. The adrenaline pumping in his veins spurred him on: a dodge to the left avoided one shot, and a roll deflected the next two. His charge was almost finished. He could roll again now, but they were so close that it wasn't a guaranteed dodge, and there was always the possibility the erratic movements would make him lose his lock.

Fox braced himself and took the next two shots straight to his hull to guarantee his sensors could hone in on Wolf, then he slammed down on the trigger, angling the shot down to avoid the last of Wolf's oncoming shots. Fox cut into a hard roll: four more bolts were screaming his way, and if he could deflect every one of them, he'd survive long enough for his charged shot to take Wolf out. His hands jerked on the control, adjusting his nose for each individual bolt so that they struck as close to the tip of his wings as he could get them. One-by-one, they smoked against his wings and deflected off into the sky. Only then was Fox able to boost away, just in time to see the searing green from his own shot's detonation.

A few seconds later, the display blanked, breaking the illusion and revealing the sim lab's wall. Panting slightly, Fox relaxed in his seat to get ahold of himself.

Damn, but that was a workout. Jerking on the controls so much had worn out his wrists and fingers, and he'd been so tense that he had a dull ache in his legs just from clenching. For a while, he just sat there, eyes closed, recovering.

The rush slowly drained, leaving him not exhausted, but energized. Even after the screen blanked, Fox could barely contain his excitement. It'd been a long time since he'd felt like this, to the point that he hadn't realized just how much he'd missed it. All else aside—this stupid mission, his uneasy truce with Wolf, and the sorry state of his life—the duel felt _good_. Maybe he and Wolf ought to do this more often.

His fingers went for the latch, and a moment later he was crawling out of the faux cockpit and leaping down to his feet on the lab. Wolf's base looked like shit, but he had to hand it to him: at least he had good tech where it counted. A couple of seconds later, Wolf stepped out, too. His rival looked about as ruffled as he did.

Fox wasn't sure what he expected. Perhaps a taunt, perhaps grievances. It wouldn't surprise him at all if Wolf was a sore loser. He wasn't expecting Wolf to walk right up to him and thrust out a hand. "That was one _hell_ of a fight."

Fox took his rival's hand in his and gave it a squeeze. It enveloped his completely. "Yeah. Close. Damn, that was close."

There were differences between the simulator and the real thing, of course. No one ever fell in love with flying through a flight simulator; nothing quite felt _right_ like it did in the air, when the roar of the engines and the breathlessness from G-forces was all too real. But if the adrenaline was anything to go by, it was more than a sufficient imitation. He'd worked up a hell of a sweat, and judging by Wolf's scent, he had too.

Wolf took a step in, leaning down a bit to put him on Fox's level. Normally, Fox would back away from Wolf's challenging posture, but the adrenaline had Fox staring back, puffing out his chest and meeting Wolf's piercing gaze. His rival's nose twitched, and he spoke: "You're fucking good, you know that?"

"I know." Their eyes met, both unflinching and unblinking, as if watching for any sign of weakness. "I'm the best there is."

Wolf was so close to him. Though the adrenaline had worn out several long minutes ago, Fox's pulse was still racing, and part of it was because of Wolf's... it was hard to describe. His _presence_. The duel might have been over, but his combatant was still standing right before him.

It was no surprise that after so many years of eternal, heated conflict, Wolf got him pumped up. The tension was so thick it was almost unbearable, yet it wasn't at _all_ unpleasant. The flight had built up so much of it, but his body hadn't had the chance to work any of it out. In spite of the fatigue, he wanted to run. He wanted to jump. He wanted to hit something.

So he did. He reached forward and shoved Wolf.

Wolf was on him in seconds, and it felt like colliding with a brick wall. Boots slid and scuffed the floor. Fox brought up his leg and planted his foot against his rival's chest to give him another backwards shove, then scrambled forward and lunged in, just to have Wolf crouch down low and tackle him.

Both pilots grunted out when they collided with the ground, Fox pinned underneath Wolf's weight. Fox worked his knees up high and shoved them out, breaking Wolf's hold. Wolf was slow on the defense: Wolf's arms were impossible to breach wherever they blocked, but Fox could outpace them. Outside the cockpit, Wolf's weaknesses were different.

Soon his palm was against Wolf's stomach and he'd shoved the man over so that now _he_ was on top, hands grasping at Wolf's wrists to disarm him. He heard a loud, challenging growl and was almost surprised that the vibrations came from his own throat. It felt so good to have this brute of a man pinned beneath him, helpless. Even with all that bulk on his arms and chest, all Wolf could do was struggle in vain; he couldn't break Fox's hold when he had the advantage of leverage.

Power-drunk, Fox sneered down at him. "Today's just not your day, is it?"

Fox couldn't recall ever meeting a gaze as intense as Wolf's. His rival's eyes were narrowed slightly, pupils dilated, and ears flared back. There was _hunger_ written all over his snout: hunger for victory, hunger for vengeance. Whatever energy it was that had gripped Fox so abruptly seemed to have taken hold of Wolf, too.

Wolf shifted abruptly, and Fox, too busy drinking in the tension of the moment, wasn't able to respond in time. One hand broke free, and that was all his rival needed: Wolf's lips pulled back into a self-satisfied grin, and Fox knew it was over when he felt Wolf rolling him over. The raw _power_ in the man would be ridiculous even if he didn't have such a mastery of how best to employ it.

Inevitably, it ended with him pinned underneath the massive, panting canine. Wolf's fangs were on display and they looked even more threatening from this position of weakness. Fox bared his teeth as Wolf leaned in, too, but his were no competition. He kicked his legs, trying to squirm his way free, but to no avail. Wolf wouldn't let himself be overtaken by the same move twice.

Looking up at his rival, Fox swore his pulse was higher now than it had been in the sims. He'd been in this position before: in Wolf's room, pinned beneath the older male, pleading for mercy when Wolf threatened his life with a single finger to the neck. Wolf was looking at him the same now as then, eyeing him like a piece of meat.

He expected Wolf's claw on his neck again, but it never came. Fox's eyes followed the larger male's movements: those teeth were getting closer and closer to his muzzle, but he _couldn't look away_ , not even for a second, as if some great power was forcing him to drink in his encroaching doom. Fearful chills danced down his spine, and Fox caught himself whimpering, bowing away from Wolf's fangs. It felt like every one of Wolf's breaths was tinged with the faint thrumming of a growl: that hunger still hadn't left his eyes, even after Wolf had clearly won. Wolf's head tilted down, pushing towards his neck. He came in at just the right angle to force Fox's head back.

Fox's ears fell. Lying here like this with throat bared to Wolf, he felt so exposed. What moments earlier had been smug satisfaction, Wolf had replaced with utter submission. Still, the fight wasn't out of him yet, even if he _had_ gotten himself in this mess all of his own accord.

"Can't beat me in the sky, so you start..." He flinched away and grunted when Wolf snapped his jaws. "Throwing your weight around. You must hate it, how you keep losing to me."

Wolf smirked. He didn't even look angry, and that was probably when Fox should have realized he was in over his head. Instead, it took him until Wolf's jaws clamped down on his neck.

Fox never would have expected that.

The second he felt Wolf's teeth, he drew in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. His back arched, and it felt like every muscle on his body seized and clenched. Every tooth pushing in against his neck felt like a hot coal, and the result was a conflagration that blazed through his body, melting away all that accumulated tension until his back slumped back against the ground and he just lay there limp. Fox tried not to make a sound, but he couldn't stop it. He'd expected to hear another whimper coming from his own lips, but instead, it sounded much more like a moan.

That spurred a growl from Wolf, whose teeth let up for just a fraction of a second, then bore back down on him until they pricked hard enough to make Fox lurch in pain. Just a little bit harder, and they would have punctured the skin, and he didn't doubt for a second that Wolf had his teeth nestled up against vital arteries. When the loudness of Wolf's growl died down, the only sounds in the ensuing silence were Fox's heavy panting and Wolf's lighter breaths.

Last time Wolf had toyed with him like this, it'd ended with Fox begging for him to stop. No matter what, Fox was _not_ going to give this sick man that kind of satisfaction again. He wouldn't be the coward who backed his nose away from the tip of that bayonet. Even in his defeat, he could be the stronger man.

But it was hard: with Fox's neck clutched in his teeth, Wolf could kill him right here. But he didn't. Wolf milked his victory for every ounce of indignation he could get out of Fox, but he held his tongue and remained silent until he finally felt Wolf's teeth pull away and his head retract. The result was a great wave of relief, but much to Fox's surprise, a twinge of disappointment whose origin he couldn't quite place.

Wolf pointed a finger down at Fox's snout. "It may be close in the air, but we aren't even playing the same game on foot, pup."

With that, Wolf stood. Given the energy in his step, it looked like he was just getting started. Fox stood after him, panting slightly, staring. He could feel the imprint of teeth on his neck, and a slight dampness to that side of his throat. His ears were still down. _Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck._

He couldn't tell what the hell Wolf's game was there, and he knew the older man would do nothing but savor in Fox's confusion. Regardless, the result of all this was a very obvious effect that Fox wasn't particularly proud of: his pants were far tighter than they should have been. Krystal had always said he liked danger far more than he should.

His tongue betrayed him. "What the _fuck,_ Wolf?"

As expected, Wolf didn't grace him with an explanation. He just grinned that infuriatingly-smug grin back at Fox. "I'm going to hit the gym. You—you should leave. Now."

Fox was still reeling. "You're kicking me out." The words came out almost automatically. "What the hell is your problem?"

"I'm not on vacation here, Fox. I have an _empire_ to run, after all." Wolf's eye never left him; it wandered, slowly and subtly, like it was sizing him up. Fox kept his eyes on Wolf's snout. He deliberately did _not_ look between Wolf's legs.

Wolf took a few steps closer. "Besides. I get my shit done, we'll have time for drinks tonight."

Fox couldn't help a bark of laughter. "What?"

"Did I stutter? You. Me. Drinks. Tonight." Fox must have looked completely opaque, because Wolf continued. "I've still got a long way to go, Fox, before I can trust you with my life. You're good, but if we end up flying against those freaks, I need to be sure you're on my side."

Fox closed his eyes and shook his head. In a sense, he was probably right: being good formidable sparring partners said nothing about allegiances, and Wolf still had plenty of reasons to be wary of Fox. Still... for whatever reason, Fox had a hard time buying that story.

It didn't sound like a good idea at all, but saying no to Wolf was difficult. "I'll think about it. In the meantime, I'll see myself out." He turned towards the door, and Wolf didn't make any move to stop him.

Overwhelmed as he may be, he couldn't deny that Wolf had, on some level, surpassed his expectations. It didn't hit him until he'd made his way back to the cargo bay that Wolf and he had no way of contacting each other. In his eagerness to escape the situation, he didn't realize how hard he'd just blown Wolf O'Donnell off. His eyes cast over towards the elevator, but it was probably too late. No doubt their little espionage mission the next week was still go, but he didn't want to give Wolf any more reasons to be pissed off at him, especially if Wolf's concerns really had been genuine.

He'd figure something out.


	7. Keep Up

I have returned with another chapter! Before I say anything else, I'd like to thank everyone for all the kind words about chapter 6. The response was overwhelmingly positive, and I'm very happy the chapter went over so well. The only problem is it's a little hard to follow up on!

I stepped away from fanfiction for a while, which is both good and bad. The good is I gained a fresh perspective on the story, and in my rereading the first six chapters to get myself back into the spirit of it, I couldn't help but notice lots of little things I'd like to touch up. Hence I did a minor editing pass on the story.

If you want to know more and peek inside my head a bit, read on! If not, skip to the story.

 **Editing Goal:** My goal in this was not to fundamentally change any of the scenes, but to do minor fixes to various little gripes I had along the way. I touched every chapter except chapter 6. Most changes in the early chapters centered around making Fox's motivations more clear. Chapter five in particular reads a bit more nicely now. Overall these are changes that are probably not worth rereading anything for, but if you are curious, feel free to check.

I added new content to exactly one scene (by writing out explicitly something that was formerly implied). I made a decision early on to omit the conversation where Fox speaks to Peppy about Wolf's bounty. I did this for two reasons: the first is that I wanted to drive the narrative towards a climax at Fox's 'interrogation' in chapter five, and I believed that saving the reveal about Wolf's bounty to the climactic moment was in the story's benefit. The second reason was I felt that the conversation was not particularly interesting and didn't really have a _place_ in the story.

I realized it a very obvious place in the beginning of chapter four, and that the scene can serve the welcome role of reaffirming Fox's thoughts, plans, and motivations in an interesting way (read: without invoking excess narration). So I added that in. Nothing in the _story_ has changed, and nothing seems different to the characters, but it's a narrative shift that I think is fairly beneficial to how chapters 4 and 5 feel.

 **Final Remark (on sex):** I haven't given my whole spiel here about what my goals are for this story (maybe I should), but as of last chapter, it should be clear that their relationship is developing in a sort of peculiar way. These aren't high-schoolers, but seasoned war-veterans with vastly different backgrounds who are the best in the world at what they do. There's little fluff and lots of tension, and that's very much intentional.

Sex is pretty important to accurately portraying this kind of relationship, not for its erotic content, but for how it functions as a plot device (see the last chapter, for instance). I don't think it's possible to portray a gay relationship like this one without at some point addressing sex; the story just wouldn't work. I'm not sure how much I can get away with, or how much will be called for, but I will err towards writing what I think the story needs, which I think won't be very much and can be pretty non-explicit, but we'll see.

* * *

Wolf had been exactly right: a workout was just what he'd needed. Fox was still so damn tense. He resisted the urge to run a couple of laps around the hangar in Sargasso; instead, he planted his ass in the cockpit, brought up his comm, and did his dreaded daily duty: e-mail.

The first thing that caught his eye was a terse message from Slippy. He took note of it and set it aside for the moment. Then it was a mass of job offers and invitations. Finally, a message from Falco.

 _Yo, haven't heard from you. Take that mission? Keep me posted, someone's gotta watch your ass_

His first instinct was to type back, _Wolf seems to be doing a good job of that_. He stalled himself, though, and thought for a moment.

 _Yes I did. You free today? Want to hit the gym in a couple hours?_

He strapped himself in and taxied himself to the hangar exit. Just a couple minutes later, he was blasting out the cockpit and dialing in Corneria city in his nav. The little ship had more than enough fuel to make the journey, but it was by no means quick about it.

Ten minutes into the journey, he had Slippy on the line.

"That doesn't sound like anything I've seen," the toad said. The hologram was a bit unstable in interplanetary space, fizzing out with static every now and then. Even then, Fox could see enough of Slippy to know he looked different. "I don't know of anything that can cut through shields like that."

"That's what I thought. It sounded funny, but Wolf..."

Slippy's eyes widened. "Wolf?"

"Yeah, Wolf. We're partnering on this. Wolf's team got in a dogfight with a few ships using that tech. Two of his teammates' ships were nearly ruined. Lost wings in a single shot."

"I'm glad Wolf's alive," Slippy said. "But, um. Well, the best you could do is send me one of those ships, of course. I could tell you what kind of tech's in the blaster. If you can't, maybe I could see one of the broken wings? I doubt that'd be helpful, but I could try."

Fox nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

"I'll look around here, too, and see if anyone's been working on any weapons projects. It's probably classified, but I'll see what I can do. Let me know if you find anything else. …Fox?"

Fox wasn't looking at Slippy's hologram. He sighed. "Is this a big deal?"

The toad shrugged, his arms briefly appearing on the holo before they dipped back below the cutoff. "Beats me. I'd have to see the tech to find out. I wouldn't worry too much about it. Could just be a trick. Maybe Wolf's ships were sabotaged? Can you trust him?"

"I think so." He thought back to his earlier conversation with the Wolf, how he'd told him that they couldn't work together if they didn't trust one another. "No, I trust him. He was there. He knows what he saw. Hell, he has ships out of commission. Be on the lookout for anything funny, yeah?"

Slippy nodded. "Okay."

"And by the way? You look fantastic, Slips. How much weight have you lost?"

Slippy's face lit up. Whenever the toad smiled, he beamed. It almost looked like it hurt to be so happy. "I'm up to forty! Amanda and I have been eating good. No more space slop. And Falco showed me around the gym a couple months ago. It's actually pretty fun. I've been going…"

Fox leaned back in the cockpit and listened.

* * *

"Four... five..."

Some canines found birds hard to read: they didn't have emotive ears, and beaks weren't very expressive, not to mention they weren't that common to begin with. But more than a decade of friendship with Falco had made it second-nature to Fox, enough that he could _definitely_ see the strain on Falco's face when the bird's arms began to give out underneath the bar.

"Easy, easy." Fox grasped hold of it and helped Falco lift it up, prompting an exasperated exhale from the bird as soon as the bulk of the weight came off his arms.

The bird was quick to sit up, panting. "Shit..."

"Always bit off more than you could chew, didn't you."

Falco rolled his eyes. "Least you have teeth. Your turn."

Fox always hated benching, but Falco could usually talk him into it. He grunted his acceptance.

"Weight?" Falco called as he stood, rolling his shoulders to loosen his arms. As usual, Falco was bare-chested.

"Add ten," Fox called as he lowered himself down onto the bench and gripped the bar. He closed his eyes and turned his focus to his body—the way his pecs felt when he clenched them, the way his biceps surged when he tensed them, and the way his whole body swelled when he took in a deep breath.

"One."

Getting the most out of a lift took complete focus on every minute motion of every part of his body. Years of training and conditioning took over, and the world disappeared. And yet despite the focus, he wasn't thinking about the particular motions, which had long been trained to automation, but the _feel_ of his body. It was easily as much a mental exercise as a physical one: the goal was to push to the point of failure, and it was only through intimate knowledge of his own body that he was able to tell when the aches screaming for him to stop were mental limitations, and when they were physical ones. It was all about straddling that line: if he didn't push hard enough, he'd never grow, and if he pushed too hard, the injury could set him back months.

In that moment, now as ever, it wasn't about bulking up; it was about discipline and control. And it was for that reason that not a single Cornerian pilot was a stranger to the gym.

"Three, four..."

The next breath rattled in his chest.

It didn't make you feel particularly strong, when you pushed yourself to the point where your legs could barely take a step and your arms could barely lift a blaster, and the physical stress was so uncomfortable—but there was something deeply gratifying about making such a routine out of pushing your limits that it no longer felt foreign. Fox had missed it.

When it finished, he sat up. Falco gripped the bar behind him. "Six," Falco chimed.

"You sound a little miffed."

"Whatever. Again."

And then they swapped positions, Fox taking off the extra ten and once more spotting for Falco. Fox took the time to take stock of his own body, of the aches that last lift had incited. Then Fox's focus turned towards Falco. That Fox had bested Falco on that one count said little; foxes were lightweight, limber creatures, but birds were even moreso. Those lighter bones made a huge difference in average strength. Falco always seemed to take that as a challenge, and he'd built up an impressive physique, for a bird. Still, he wasn't bulky: standing five inches taller than Fox, Falco still weighed ever-so-slightly less, and though his light bones were mostly responsible for that, the bird was astonishingly thin, with a lean stomach that was flat enough to be featured in more than a couple of ads.

Fox held no attraction to the bird.

A good ten minutes later, the sets were over, and Falco was tossing him a water bottle. Fox unscrewed the cap and downed a few gulps.

"So, did you take that mission?"

Fox wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "Sort of. Did some snooping in Meteo, didn't lead anywhere."

"You take a team?"

"Nah."

"Can't tell if you're brave or stupid."

"Little bit of both."

Fox watched Falco chug his own drink. When the bird finished, he crushed the bottle in a hand and tossed it over to the bin. When it bounced off the rim, Falco made a prompt _tsk_ sound, then sat back down on the bench. "What'd you find?"

A little bit annoyed, Fox shook his head and headed over to clean up Falco's mess. Some things never changed. "Ran into Wolf."

"Yeah?"

Fox nodded. "He wasn't too happy to see me." Into the bin both the bottles went, and Fox stretched out his arms again. "Turns out he might actually be useful, though."

"So he ain't the bad guy. Y'know, I hate to say I told you so..."

Fox was close enough to the sitting bird now to punch him in the arm. "Shut it."

Falco rubbed his chin, and Fox expected him to open his beak and spout off a round of questions about Wolf. Instead: "Lots of jobs popping up out there now. Lotta guys wanting escorts since ships started getting shot up."

Fox grunted. He hadn't really been keeping up with the usual listings—never had, really. The pay was usually terrible compared to what he could make just selling an appearance, and they were always the most boring damn tasks, often with shady folk. "You ever think about taking any?"

Falco shrugged. "Iunno. I get bored one weekend, then maybe."

"So if I've got a ship I want to bust up, just a one-and-done deal..."

Falco stood, stretching out his legs. "Then I'd think about it. Next set?"

"Yeah. I'll go first."

The training was starting to wear on Fox's body, and so the rest of it passed in silence—at least, until Fox finished the final rep of his dips, at which point Falco burst out laughing. Fox, nearly panting with exertion, leveled a confused glare at Falco.

"Y'know, I can tell you're back in the game, Fox. You don't normally work half this hard."

He looked over at Falco just in time to be tossed another bottle of water. He snatched it out of the air, grinning a little at the accompishment. "Oh, please, that has nothing to do with it. Just got a lot of energy to burn. Hell of a morning."

Falco took a seat at the other bench, a meter or so in front of him, and offered a sympathetic roll of the eyes. "Yeah? What, was it _twenty_ reporters sucking your dick instead of the usual ten?"

Fox liked having a secret. That was his first thought, and immediately he found it a little bit weird that he'd consider his meeting with Wolf a secret. He could tell Falco about how he'd been held at gunpoint (which technically wasn't yesterday), infiltrated Wolf's base, or threatened to castrate Panther, but part of him just wanted to get a rise out of Falco. So he curled his lips into an almost mocking grin, and said, "Wolf is a lot better than you at flight sims."

Falco's eyes widened, though the motion was clearly over-exaggerated, and followed with baring two palms up at Fox. "Whoa, easy. He's a lot uglier, too, and I bet my place is _way_ nicer than his."

Fox laughed. "I won't argue with you, there."

"I didn't know you two were best buddies all of a sudden."

"Oh, we're definitely not buddies." The words came out without thinking about them. Maybe they did slight a disservice to how he and Wolf interacted, but when they talked it was mostly them arguing and yelling and pissing each other off, and Fox hadn't really ever had a 'buddy' like that before. Sure, Falco and he weren't nice to each other, but never hostile.

"But?"

Fox shrugged. "But nothing."

"Yeah. _Sure_."

Fox sighed. His ears splayed for a moment. He really ought to tell _someone_ , and Falco and he had never kept secrets. "Want to hear something funny?"

"Shoot."

He thought for a moment about how to say it without sounding silly, but it sort of _was_ silly, so he just blurted it out: "Wolf asked me out for drinks. I'm pretty sure he's gay, and I'm starting to wonder if he's hitting on me."

Now the surprise was genuine, so much that Falco squinted as if wary he was being played. "But you aren't buddies." He sounded almost amused.

Fox pursed his lips and met the squint. "Uh, no."

Falco roared with laughter and it was contagious, because what he'd said was _ridiculous_ and saying the words aloud made it so damn obvious _._ Falco was still half-laughing when he next spoke: "Careful, you break his weak little heart like you did Krystal's and he might actually kill you."

"I'd like to see him try."

"You know, that'd make a good tabloid story." He made air-quotes with his wings. "'Lylat's Most Wanted Gay For McCloud'."

"Don't be an ass, Falco."

Falco finished off this second bottle of water, and launched it towards the bin. This time, it went in. "Score!" He stood and crossed his arms, looking down at Fox. "But, seriously. Uh. Were you, like... actually looking for advice?"

Fox dismissed that with a wave of his hand and got back onto his feet. Falco took a few steps forward, and one of his hands came down on Fox's shoulder. "Alright. It was good seeing ya. Don't be such a stranger, yeah?"

Fox looked up at his old friend and sighed.

"Yeah. You're right. I'll keep in touch."

* * *

Home sweet home.

By now he'd laid down on the couch in his den enough to know exactly how he'd have to lay to minimize the discomfort from one of the faulty springs in base that made the whole damn thing distend. He should've bought a new one a long time ago, but it was just so much effort to do anything once he sat himself down.

He should eat something, too: it was almost three in the afternoon and he still hadn't had lunch. But he didn't even have to walk over to his fridge to know it'd be empty save for month-old drinks and maybe an expired pack of shredded cheese. Much as he hated to admit it, it was just so easy to live off space rations: easy, quick and nutritious, but about as soulful as Academy cafeteria food. Some coffee might do him good, but it was all the way over _there,_ in the damn kitchen. At least instant coffee wasn't much work, though stooping that low wasn't exactly a point of pride.

Sitting here, where he'd spent so many nights alone, it felt like a heavy weight settled over him. Sargasso felt like another reality, and the gravity pinning him down to the couch felt strong enough to be Venom's.

His comm buzzed. _I know you're drowning in attention over there, speech-boy, but can you spare ten seconds to type me 'no?'_

Fox frowned down at his comm. That _had_ to be Wolf. _I haven't decided yet_ , Fox typed back.

 _I thought foxes were supposed to be quick._

Fox closed his eyes and leaned back. By now he'd almost embraced the uneasy tension in his back from the couch's bowed bottom. It was almost reassuring, to know that at least some things in the world were constant when he had a dearth of decent missions, teammates ditching him, and Wolf O'Donnell asking him out for drinks.

A sharp buzzing jerked him back to reality. Wolf was calling him. Wolf was _calling_ him. He was almost amazed with how quickly he drained of lethargy and sat up straight. Wolf was already pissed off at him, and it seemed like not answering him could be a recipe for disaster—he'd already showed he was temperamental and more than capable of ditching a chance to work together when it flared up.

A holo of Wolf's snout appeared before him. He'd ditched the scouter that usually covered his bad eye and instead wore only an eyepatch.

"About damn time you pick up."

Fox leaned back and let out a sigh. "...how the hell did you get my personal number?"

"I hate to break it to you, but I'm a criminal."

That made Fox roll his eyes. "So, let me get this straight. You want me over for drinks?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

Wolf shrugged. "Why the fuck not? I've known of you for, what, thirteen years? And we've never had much of a face-to-face chat without one of us whipping out a blaster."

"We did today."

"That was less of a conversation and more you trying not to piss yourself."

"You went overboard."

"You started it."

Fox scoffed. "And you call _me_ pup? How old are you, again?"

Wolf flashed him a grin. "Old enough that I know not to bite off more than I can chew. Unlike _you_."

" _I_ wasn't the one doing the..." Fox snapped his lips shut before he could finish that sentence. He liked to pretend that he'd never felt Wolf's teeth on his neck.

Still, Wolf's ears flicked forward, and he laughed. It was a moment before he spoke again. "No one's ever done that before, have they?"

"I... think that's a little personal?"

"Not _that._ I mean _fought back_."

Fox squinted. "...I don't follow." Wolf looked at him like he was an idiot, and that just made Fox shake his head.

"You could punch out anyone on Corneria, and they'd barely bat an eye. They'd just stand up, look right at you, and thank you for your time."

That made Fox laugh. "You really think that's the way my life is, Wolf?"

"...my _point_ is, Fox." He lifted up his hand enough to point a ghostly finger at Fox. "You aren't used to someone who can keep up with you."

He opened his mouth to spout off some glib retort about how little Wolf knew about him, but he slowly shut it and shifted his weight against the couch. His thoughts wandered back to the morning–about the intensity of the dogfight, about all that energy he'd had afterward, about the adrenaline pumping in his veins. "...yeah. You're right." He stared down at Wolf's ethereal visage, thinking. "But neither are you."

"Not at all."

Wolf said it as if he were trying to make some kind of point with it, and even through the shitty hologram, that one eye stared back like he was expecting something. Fox squinted at Wolf's snout, then sighed. "You know, Wolf, I just can't figure you out."

"Well, there's an easy fix to that. If only I'd invited you over for–oh, that's right. I _did_."

"No, no. I'm serious. What's your game? Like... what do you _want_?"

"For fuck's sake, Fox, I don't have a nefarious plan. I'm not some movie villain."

"If only you were as good at dodging my shots as you are at dodging my questions."

Wolf lips pulled back for half a second to flash his teeth, and that little display made Fox grin. Hell, getting reactions out of Wolf was too much fun. That wasn't an angry look, either, but a sort of charged stare reminiscent of how he'd looked at Fox after that dogfight. It passed quickly, though it left Wolf with a faint curve to his lips.

"Isn't it pretty obvious? I can trust you not to put a gun to my head, but I don't _know_ you, and I like to _know_ the people I fly with. Otherwise, I might end up raiding a planet with someone who feels just peachy leaving me to die."

"That's a low blow, Wolf, and you know we're past that. I just get the feeling you're doing this to fuck with me."

"To fuck with you?"

Fox frowned. "I don't know. People do it to me all the time, where... like, they invite me here or there, then I show up and they spring something on me. Like... someone wants a surprise photoshoot, or someone drags me to a party so they look cool to their shareholders, or someone tries to slip me a drink that's been drugged."

"Is that _really_ what you think I'm after, pup? I'm hurt." He didn't look hurt at all, but the slight furrow in his brows did make him look serious, at least moreso than Fox was expecting. "Is it a crime that, since we're finally not at each other's throats, I'd like to get to know you just a little bit better?"

"Well, you are a criminal, and you did go for my throat."

He thought that was pretty good, but Wolf's expression was completely deadpan. His words were slow and measured. "Believe it or not, I'm being serious."

Fox shut his eyes.

For all that he trusted Wolf not to backstab him on this mission, he still didn't know what to think of the man. Wolf had a smooth tongue, but he was still a criminal overlord and a former puppet of Andross. He was a good pilot, sure, and so far, this conversation hadn't been nearly as awkward or uncomfortable as he would have expected. But...

If Fox framed his suspicions in the right light, yes, he could squint and see them as curiosities. Wolf seemed genuine enough so far, but Fox was just counting down the days until he asked one question too many and shattered the shaky facade of a friendship he so desperately needed right now. He wasn't sure if he wanted to expedite that process. And given that Wolf seemed to thrive on being troublesome and jerking Fox around, he really couldn't be certain of Wolf's motivations.

Fox closed his eyes. Wolf was waiting on him to say _something_. "What do you normally do on nights like these?"

Wolf was quiet for a moment, as if he were deciding what to make of Fox's response. He must have seen it as at least an attempt at a compromise, because he let out a slow breath and started talking. "I have a workshop on base where I tinker around with electronics. Less boring than it sounds. Managed to not blow too much shit up. All it's cost me is an eye." He flicked a finger against his eyepatch.

Fox had a hard time believing Wolf was serious, especially with the slight twist to the corners of his mouth. "Go on."

"Sometimes I head to bars. Good for connections. Used to read." He paused. "Flight sims. Fuck, I don't know. You know how it is. Guys like us, we keep busy."

 _Guys like us_. There Wolf was again, lumping them into the same basket, but Fox surprised himself by agreeing with the spirit of it, this time. "...yeah. I know."

"Running this place ain't easy. I don't get a lot of time to sit around and read poetry. Y'know, just last week..."

Fox relaxed and listened. Wolf told him about the one cargo ship that'd been raided, and how he'd only gotten two hours of sleep that night. He told him about tracking down the band of asshats who'd tried to rob one of his joints two days later.

"And then on Saturday, this hotshot white fox rolls in, talking shit. Heard he started a barfight, then threatened my teammate at knife-point, but I can't find a damn thing on him and he's obviously got Cornerian intel up his sleeve. So I lock him up. But then this little shit breaks out and strangles two of my boys half to death, then comes and knocks on my door like I'm some kind of old pal."

Fox flashed Wolf a grin. "Well, when you put it that way..."

"You're pretty damn ruthless. You act like you aren't, Fox, but you really are."

Fox shrugged. Maybe Wolf had a point. "I had a mission."

"So did I, Fox. Ten years ago, when Andross built the first Wolfen."

Fox pressed his lips together. He didn't know what to say that. "...alright, you've made your point, Wolf. Speaking of missions... I talked to Slippy."

Wolf's ears perked. "Yeah? Tell me what you got."

And so he did. Fox recounted their conversation. Wolf thought about it for a moment, with that that now-familiar contemplative look as he stared off into nothingness.

"Leon's wing is a useless hunk of charred metal, and I've got more than enough of that already. He wants it, he can have it, but I doubt it'll be useful. What we really need is to get him a sample of one of those weapons."

"Yeah. That can be our goal, for when the next ship raid hits. So next week, you said we'll bug his ship? And then we'll track him, and see if we can get any useful information from him?"

"Try to get him alone," Wolf said. "I doubt he's got those guns on his ship all the time—hell, maybe his boss gave him a brand new ship for these missions. But we get our hands on it, that should give us a lot of info."

"Sounds good to me."

"Yeah. But, Fox, I didn't call you to talk about business. Look, I gotta know: yes or no? You gonna come over?"

"Well..." Fox scratched the back of his head.

That made Wolf roll his eyes. "Shit, it's not like I'm asking you on a date. I won't go cry myself to sleep if you tell me no. Just give me a damn answer, so I know whether or not I need other plans. Fun as this is, I'm not gonna spend my whole night staring at a hologram."

"I haven't drank more than one or two beers in years. And hell, it's such a flight to get to Meteo. I've been putting it off."

"To do what? Lounge around and watch soaps?"

What _would_ he do? Browse the net. Put some silly show on the holo and not watch it. Check his e-mail fifty times. Getting himself to do much of anything except run flight sims against AI had been more of a struggle than he would've liked to admit.

The Fox McCloud of ten years ago would be ashamed of what he'd become. More than once since the war ended, he'd missed an appointment and claimed to have overslept past lunch, when in actuality he'd woken at nine in the morning and just couldn't muster the energy to get out of bed. If nothing else, the past few days had gotten him up on time and made him feel _alive_ again. And even if Wolf was confusing and solicitous and obviously selfish, there was value in that.

"Hey, Fox." Wolf brought his arm up so that his hand showed on the feed, and he snapped his fingers. His voice was bitter. "Look me in the eye and just tell me to fuck off already."

"Unwad your panties. I'll come."

Wolf's lips peeled apart just enough to show teeth, and his ears flicked forward, flashing the white on their insides. The smile was unexpected and unexpectedly endearing. Fox pictured his tail wagging, and that almost made him laugh.

"And you accuse _me_ of dodging questions. That was way too fucking hard, Fox. You're serious? You're actually going to fly your ass out here to Meteo?"

"Unless you want to try sneaking off to Corneria without getting _your_ ass jailed, yes."

"Good. I'll see you at... ten?"

Fox nodded. "I don't wanna disguise, though. Where exactly are we going?"

"Come to my room. No distractions, no one butting in, and no need to hide. Good?"

What the hell wax Fox signing himself up for? "Yeah. Good."

"You can sneak in easily enough. Wear something over your head. I'll give you the code for hangar entry. There's a cargo elevator in there, and if you take it straight up, my room is right across. I'll have to let you in; you'd need a card for clearance."

It was like a damn script. Fox wondered how many times Wolf had done this. He nodded. "Alright. I'll see you then."

"Later, pup."

As soon as the call finished, he pulled up Falco's number. He really ought to tell _someone_ about what he was doing, just in case it blew up, and Falco would be the easy, obvious choice. But if it ended up being a mistake, then Fox deserved any ill that befell him as a consequence. He didn't need to drag anyone else into this.

He worked himself up off the couch and headed to the bathroom to get ready.


End file.
